100 Reasons to Love a Cross dresser
by KikoWest
Summary: 100 AmixZoicite drabbles. Most romantically themed.
1. Red

**Author's Notes**: I know I shouldn't start new things before I finish what I previously started, but drabble always manages to relax me. With school looming on the horizon, and my plot bunnies struggling to poo out something useful… Well, I could just use the noncommittal creative outlet drabbling has to offer.

So, here's 100 fluffy Ami/Zoicite drabbles inspired by fanfic100. Know that some may deviate from the "norm." Also, **notice that the rating may change from post to post.** It will be marked if it contains mature content.

**Theme:** #11 - Red  
**Genre:** Humor/General  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating:** PG

…  
**Matchmaking  
**…

He looked utterly miserable sitting slumped on the dining room table, Minako at his side. She had a naughty grin on her face as she squeezed what was left in the aloe bottle onto one raw, red shoulder. Zoicite hissed.

"I don't think I've ever had to use a whole bottle of cooling gel before," mused Minako.

"Shut up," grumbled Zoicite.

"How're things going in here?" asked Usagi, popping her head through the door. Oblivious as always, she missed the baleful glance Zoicite shot in Minako's direction. "Makoto's making lemonade for the burn victim. If that makes you feel any better." The moon princess gave the irate Shitennou a wide, easy smile. He sulked in response.

"And Ami's on her way?" Zoicite asked, trying not to sound too pathetic.

He failed.

"Yeah," assured Usagi. "I found her and Michiru over in the dunes. She should--" The kitchen's screen door slammed violently, and Usagi disappeared in a haze of blond hair.

Raised voices began to travel towards the dining room, punctuated by a brief moment of shrill laughter, and then Ami was in the doorway looking thoroughly frazzled. It only took a few seconds for her to fully assess the situation, taking in Zoicite's pained expression and bundled hair. Aloe dripped off his nose and landed with a dull splat on his leg.

"Are you alright?" she gasped, taking a few cautious steps towards the table.

"He fell asleep out on the beach," Minako blurted. Her self-restraint only lasted so long. "He's lucky Kunzite woke him up when he did!" She could barely contain her rampant giggling. "And he's lucky he wasn't _nude_."

"Minako!" Zoicite groaned. He would have whirled around to peg her with a vengeful stare, but settled for a slight twitch of the head in her direction.

"Usagi made it sound like you were dead!" said Ami, trying to hide a growing smile through her fingers.

"I wish I was!" the crispy Shitennou whined.

That was just too much for the small crowd that had formed outside the dining room. Jadeite and Nephrite writhed on the ground, practically having a seizure from the hilarity of it all. Makoto, who had arrived with a cold glass of lemonade, had to set her tray down until she could control an awful case of the giggles. Zoicite regarded them with an indignant air.

"It's not funny!" he insisted, which only made everyone laugh harder.

"Is the poor, little Englishman too delicate to be out in the sun?" howled Nephrite.

"You look ridiculous!" gasped Jadeite between deep, belly laughs.

Makoto had her back turned on the whole group, head pressed against the wall as she tried to regain her composure. It obviously wasn't working, since her shoulders continued to shake violently.

"I'm going to murder you all in your sleep," grumbled Zoicite, trying to cross his arms and pout. He succeeded halfway before repressing a strangled yelp of pain.

"Aw, Zoicite, come on," Minako soothed. "Look on the bright side..."

"What's that?" he snarled.

"Now, you and Ami match!" she answered. "Duh" was written all over her face.

That was just too much for Ami, who promptly erupted into a fit of giggles as Zoicite shot her bright red bikini a hard stare.


	2. Independence

**Theme:** #94 - Independence  
**Genre:** Humor/General  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating:** G

…  
**Helping Hand  
**…

He knew she needed to do it herself. It was in her eyes, the thirst to succeed and overcome. She'd rise above the challenge. She always did.

But that didn't mean he still wouldn't like to do it for her. It must have been the small sliver of male instinct in him that created that urge to protect and provide. Watching her struggle made his throat uncomfortably tight and his toes curl.

Sure. He liked the idea of her being independent, self-sufficient. He just wasn't certain he could live through the duration of it.

"I'm a medical student, for crying out loud!" she raged, blowing strands of dark hair from her eyes. Her obstacle sat defiantly static on the kitchen counter. "This is just ridiculous!"

"Ami," he began slowly. "Would you like me to open the pickle jar for you?"


	3. Sunrise

**Theme:** #31 - Sunrise  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG

…  
**Love and Omelets**  
…

Ami was almost always awake at sunrise, and not because she had to be, but because she just _wanted_ to be. It was easily her favorite part of the day. The thought of Crystal Tokyo slowly being enveloped by a warm blanket of fresh, pink light made her smile. There was just something innocent and hopeful about a new day, a dawning morning.

And it was about the only time things were relatively quiet. The palace had become a noisy, chaotic mess after Selenity announced her pregnancy, and then there were European ambassadors staying in the western wing, expecting a cohesive presentation in roughly three hours.

Ami shoved her face into her soft, yielding pillow. _No_. Sunrise was a time to enjoy the new day and not worry about snotty politicians or inane royal errands. This was her time to just be _Ami_. Not a guardian, not a princess. Just Ami.

She looked over. The early morning light was just beginning to kiss Zoicite's side of the bed, making his pale curls a fiery halo. One arm dangled off the side of the mattress, disappearing from sight, and the other lay limply on his chest, rising and falling with his deep rhythmic breathing.

Though she wouldn't admit it (because she thought it was vaguely creepy), this was another one of the reasons she enjoyed the early morning so much. It was the only time Zoicite was still, the only time he appeared vulnerable. Ami found this secret, silent side of him fascinating.

Even if he really was only just sleeping.

_Two hours until I have to be up_, she thought, curling herself carefully along her lover. _Until we both have to be up_.

Zoicite rolled over in his sleep, body instinctively catering to her touch, drawing her in closer. His breath fanned her forehead, blowing tangled dark hair in all directions until she ducked into the crook of his neck. The scent of his mint soap had somewhat worn off his skin during the night, but if she nuzzled into his chest she could still smell it.

_This is what I look forward to every morning_, she thought sleepily. A moment passed as she mulled it over. _Well..._

_This and Makoto's omelets_.


	4. Storm

**Author's Notes**: I've decided that updating in sets of three is probably the best thing to do, since most of the pieces are so small. Also, it gives me a chance to keep track of who's reviewed. :)

**Thank you to**: justsukiya, raye85, IAmTheBattleMaiden, asga, Melete, A'Wunderkind, and Lilian for all your kind reviews! They're very much appreciated!

**Theme:** #70 - Storm  
**Genre:** Romance/Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG-13

…  
**During a Storm**  
…

_BOOM! _

Zoicite was nearly bowled out of bed as Ami tried to shove her body as far into the crook of his arm as humanly possible. She had rammed so hard his ribs had kind of hurt, and her fingers were digging uncomfortably into his bare skin like kitten claws. He winced, but found her cropped hair in the dark and laced his fingers through the still bath damp strands.

_BOOM!_

He could feel her heart beating wildly against his skin, which perked his sleepy mind. Ami was taking in calculated breaths through her nose, which was smashed under his top rib. She whistled and trembled like a baby bird, and Zoicite clutched her to him tighter.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to sit up. It proved to be an awkward mission with Ami clinging to him like a parasite.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Just hold me, please."

They sat in silence for a moment. The room was nearly pitch black, and only the faint sound of rain hitting glass and crystal was audible. Zoicite tried to refrain from smiling, but failed miserably.

"You're not afraid of the storm, are you?" he asked finally. Ami chose to remain silent at his side. "Because that's a little ridiculous..."

"Well, thank you, Zoicite," she ground out.

It amused him that her grip didn't lessen any, despite his barb. "You're a senshi, you know," he continued. "You've faced down evil..."

"You can go back to sleep now," she deadpanned.

"Don't worry. I won't let the nasty storm get you, darling!" Somehow, he managed to untangle himself from her frantic grasp, and padded over to the closest window. The floodlights from the courtyard below illuminated his face as he pulled the curtain back and took a long, calculating look out into the night sky. "No ninny thunderstorm will get past me!" he teased, flashing a toothy grin in the dark. One bright, flaxen curl was falling into his eyes, making him look less of a hero and more like a mischievous little boy. "Not on my--"

_BOOM!_

"Holy Hades!" Zoicite hurled himself back into the comforting center of his bed and promptly threw the sheets up to his chin.

Silence enveloped the room as the thunder's hardy rumble ebbed away. Zoicite clutched his chest, trying to get his heart rate back to normal. For a moment, he had forgotten all about Ami. Then a small, feminine body was pressed against his, her legs straddling his hips as she pushed the comforter off them both and sat up. Zoicite had left the curtain half open in his mad dash, bathing the room in a soft glow, punctuated by thick flashes of lightening.

Zoicite's heart began to beat rapidly again, but for a very different reason. Storm? What storm? He could see halfway down Ami's nightdress, her soft, pale skin tempting and dewy in the dim light, as she leaned over to nibble at his ear.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't let that 'ninny' thunderstorm get you."

Zoicite let out a whoosh of air like a deflating balloon, and rolled Ami off onto her own side of the bed, where she lay giggling wildly.

"I was just startled!" he argued.

"You ran so fast! I've _never_ seen you move like that!" she informed gleefully, before sitting up and pasting on a 'no nonsense' expression on her face. "You know, Zoicite," she said. "You're a Shitennou. Are you afraid of a thunderstorm? Because that's a little ridiculous."

He attempted to smother her half-heartedly with a pillow. "Don't wake me up next time, then! See if I let you cling to me with those claws of yours!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" was the muffled response.

Zoicite retracted the pillow, glaring down at her. Half-lidded, blue eyes blinked lazily back.

"Liar," he accused.

"No," she assured. "Truly. I'm sorry. I was only teasing." Zoicite's brain plummeted down somewhere around his kidneys as she worried her bottom lip. "Kiss and make up?" she suggested.

"Uh," he articulated before complying forthwith.

The storm didn't bother them for much longer.


	5. Teammates

**Theme:** #26 - Teammates  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating:** PG-13

…  
**Yahtzee**  
…

Usagi possessed a very critical eye when she wanted to, and at that moment, squished between Ami and Makoto, she wanted to bore a hole in Zoicite and Nephrite's head. They looked fidgety, sitting in silence side by side. Zoicite kept chewing on a stray lock of his long, blond hair. Something was up.

"You should stay the week more often," Ami said again, giving Usagi's knee a friendly pat. "Really, it was nice to have you."

"Are you sure the apartment wasn't too crowded with five people?" asked Usagi.

"Oh, no!" Makoto spoke up. "No! It was just cozy. I mean, when it's just Ami-chan and Zoicite, and Nephrite and myself it's actually very boring. You spiced things up, you know?"

Usagi seemed pacified. Her cute, little Cupid's bow mouth broke out into a huge grin. "Next time, maybe Mamo-chan can come?"

Nephrite coughed as Makoto said: "Sure!"

"I love you guys so much!" gushed Usagi, latching onto her two friends. Over her shoulder, the men grimaced. "It was so nice to see you, even if it was just for a week. I hate being a whole city away!"

"We're just an hour away, Usagi-chan!" Ami rationalized.

"Maybe I can stay longer next time?" Usagi asked, oblivious.

Ami and Makoto shared a glance and smiled. Nephrite had his head down, hiding his expression behind his dark hair. The way his shoulders were heaving slightly, it almost looked like he was crying.

"Of course," said Ami.

From around the side of the building, a large, red bus creaked to a halt by the curb, letting off a small whoosh of air and exhaust. Usagi's face fell again as they all stood up to meet it.

"Well, there's my bus," she said. "What are your plans later tonight? Maybe I can call you?"

"Oh, God, later tonight. We have all tonight..." Zoicite breathed. Ami pinched his arm.

"Yahtzee?" she responded loudly, trying to cover up his yelp of pain.

"You're going to play Yahtzee?" asked Usagi.

"Yeah! We like to do that sometimes," said Makoto.

"Yahtzee's so wonderful," said Nephrite. Makoto stepped on his foot as his hand slowly made it's way from her waist towards her backside.

"I miss all the good stuff," lamented Usagi. "We should all do that next time."

"Of course," Makoto and Ami responded in unison.

There were a few tears and painful, loud wailing as their distraught princess was slowly ushered onto the bus, but the doors clicked shut soon enough, and Usagi was gone in a puff of polluted air. Before the bus rounded the corner, Zoicite could have sworn he saw Usagi glare at him, but chalked it up to an over active imagination and hormones.

"Oh, thank God!" moaned Nephrite. "She's gone! We call the apartment!"

"You do not! We did dishes for a week! We get the apartment!" snapped Zoicite, brandishing the stock section of the morning newspaper menacingly.

"I'm past caring now!" whined Makoto, pulling Nephrite in for a very publicly inappropriate kiss.

"Hurry and let's get back to the apartment while they're occupied," Zoicite whispered to Ami, trying to usher her back towards the center of town.

"Zoicite! We can practice a little restraint, you know," she said, shrugging him off. "We're not crazed sex fiends. Behave like an adult..."

"Ami," Zoicite said, his expression very dark and serious. "Listen very carefully. I'm a _very_ sexual being. It's been a week." Zoicite paused to collect himself before explaining huskily, "If you don't have sex with me right now... I'll die."

There was a pregnant pause, as Ami seemed to be considering which was more important: proving her point or pleasing her lover. She could have also launched into how it was physically impossible to die from lack of sexual activity, but those green eyes were looking at that way and... _Oh, just forget it!_

"I had to pretend just for a few seconds," she answered finally, grabbing his hand. "Now, run while they're up against that soda machine!"


	6. Dinner

**Theme:** #58 - Dinner  
**Genre:** Romance/Humor  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating:** PG-13

…  
**Gluttony  
**…

Ami checked her watch. It was quarter till nine, and the dinner was supposed to have started around eight. Her eye twitched involuntarily. She hated being behind schedule. And she was _way_ behind schedule this time.

Unfortunately for her, Zoicite didn't seem to have a problem with it. He seemed to prefer being "fashionably late," and when Ami had gotten home around 7:45 to pick him up, he had still been lounging around with a ham sandwich in one hand and a book in the other. His expression had been one of mixed annoyance and oblivion as she forcefully relieved him of his snack and wrestled _Les Miserable_ out of his vice grip.

"We're supposed to be at a _dinner _in fifteen minutes!" she had hissed, using the heavy hardback to beat him into the shower.

He had dilly-dallied around. Ami was actually surprised that their flat's hot water heater was holding up as long as it was. She was really trying to be patient, but he was testing her nerves. Leaning her head against the bathroom door, Ami took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. She had to speed things along.

"Are you done yet?" she yelled over the pounding of running water.

"What?" he hollered back.

Shoving the door open, Ami leaned against the frame, giving the "frosted" glass a hard stare. She could just see the outline of his body standing motionless in the shower, and that was really all it took to make her mouth go dry. The distorted glass wasn't really obstructing her vision. Her mind substituted in all the proper images: mangled flaxen hair, the smooth expanse of his back, the flexing muscles moving down to--

_No! He wanted you to come in to get him_, she reasoned frantically. _He's playing with you. Bad Zoicite, awful Zoicite! You are stronger than this. You can resist, Ami. You've been to med school, damn it. Concentrate... No, not on his rear. Oh, honestly! _

"What're you doing?" she finally managed to croak out.

Zoicite spat water and answered: "I'm showering. What does it look like?"

"You're taking forever," said Ami, feeling her resolve somewhat strengthen the more she spoke.

"My hair takes a long time to wash properly," he answered.

"An hour?"

"Sure."

"You're vain. Get out."

"You could join me..." He leaned against the shower door, clarifying the impish grin on his face.

"Why do I put up with you?" Ami sighed. She rolled her eyes and hoped it looked halfway convincing, because the less practical part of her, the part that admired Zoicite's arrogance, vanity, and brashness, was arguing ferociously that IQ test be damned. She was the stupidest woman on Earth if she didn't hop in that shower ASAP.

"Well, the sex of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "But other than that, I think you're a glutton for punishment."

"I think I'll pass this time, thank you."

Ami imaged he was probably pouting as he said, "No one will miss us at the dinner party, you know. Why won't you just hop in for a few minutes?"

"Because a few minutes turns into a few hours, and then that turns in to all night and the next day. There is never just 'a few minutes' with you, Zoicite," she said. "And besides, the water won't stay very warm for long."

"Yes it will," he argued stubbornly. "I should-- What're you doing?" Ami had moved over near the toilet, and placed one finger threateningly on the flusher. It was her turn to smile. "Ami, that's not funny."

"Get out of the shower, Zoicite," she commanded.

The sound of running water continued uninterrupted for a few seconds as they stared each other down.

"You wouldn't," Zoicite said, trying to call her bluff.

"We're all ready late, but we can still save face if you just get out of the shower."

"Make me."

"I will."

He smiled, slow and steady. "I don't believe you. You couldn't even flush a goldfish last week."

The flusher swung down and snapped back up. There was a pause as the shower sputtered and Zoicite stood flabbergasted, green eyes blazing behind the glass. _I'll get you for this_, they said.

"Just get out of the damn shower!" was Ami's only response as she stalked back into the living room, ignoring his bloodcurdling shrieks as cold water spewed from the showerhead.


	7. Beginnings

**Author's Note**: Classes start Monday, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next. I thought I'd post three more drabbles before I disappear off the face of the Earth for a bit.

**Thank you to**: A'Wunderkind, justsukiya, asga, Lauren, and Hidden Firecracker for reviewing. I really appreciate it!

**Theme:** #1 - Beginnings  
**Genre:** General  
**Version:** Silver Millennium  
**Rating:** PG-13

...  
**In the Beginning  
**...

"No, really! I can find my way back just fine, Sir!" she said, voice nearly hysterical.

Zoicite smiled. There was something delectable about this girl. She was exotic, but not in any way he was used to. The dark, almost midnight blue sheen of her hair and wide, almond shaped eyes suggested the orient, but her skin was a soft olive tone that made him ache for Italy or farther east into the wilds of Hungary. And _oh_, she wielded those soft, blue eyes with such innocent precision. Zoicite bit his bottom lip to hold a wicked smile at bay. He'd been looking for Endymion, and instead had found a nymph. Wasn't he just the luckiest bastard alive?

"Nonsense!" he replied, one hand firmly on the small of her back. He'd given her his cloak against the early spring chill since she'd been dressed so inappropriately in foamy blue layers of the strangest material he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot. _Must be regional_, he thought, and made a mental note to ask around. "You'd honor me by allowing me to escort you back to the Queen's quarters."

She stiffened under his touch. Zoicite wasn't sure if he should be offended or thrilled. It was refreshing to find a woman who didn't rub into his hand like a large, oversexed cat, but he wasn't certain he wanted to work for this strange little kitten. It'd been a while since he'd had a good conquest, and most of those had been men. He glanced down at her cropped hair, curling softly under her chin, and frowned. Maybe she preferred women? Oh well. He'd find a way to get what he wanted. He always did.

"Zoicite!" He'd only let her go for a second, only turned around for a brief stitch in time to see Jadeite jogging towards him, but she disappeared in the time it took to blink an eye.

"Damn!" Zoicite hissed.

"Oh, sorry," said Jadeite sheepishly. "Did I scare away your catch?"

"Yes, thank you."

"There'll be another one. Besides, Kunzite's unhappy with you. You have bigger problems, my friend."

"Seems like a reoccurring problem to me."

"Yes, well, I'd suggest you go find him as soon as possible." Jadeite paused before starting back toward the palace. "Oh, and I'd suggest you find your cloak first before you go. You know how he is about being in proper uniform while we're visiting the Middle Kingdom."

Zoicite's hands flew to the clasps on his shoulders. The little maid had managed to take off with his best winter cloak! _Oh well_, he thought as he followed slowly behind Jadeite. _I have another one packed away somewhere. It's not a total loss..._

He smiled. Now he had some time to think of what he'd do when she came back to return it.


	8. Lightning

**Theme:** #68 - Lightening  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG-13

...  
**Heat Lightning  
**...

"Heat lightning," observed Zoicite, pointing towards the horizon.

Ami leaned over the balcony, watching the raw electricity dance across the slowly darkening sky. "I can see why Mako-chan loves it here. Three thunderstorms in one week, and now heat lightning," she said.

"It's a beautiful country," said Zoicite. "Next time, we should go out west. Towards California."

Ami was silent a moment, eyes trained off in the distance. "California would be nice," she said finally.

Zoicite raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to go out west? I thought you'd like to see more of America. We could even dip down south. Nephrite's always wanted to show us around Brazil."

"Oh, no, I would like to go," said Ami quickly. "I would." She paused. "I suppose I'm just getting homesick."

"For Japan?"

"For Europe." Zoicite seemed genuinely shocked. Ami blinked rapidly, confused. "Is it really so surprising?" she asked.

"I just never considered that you'd become attached," he answered sheepishly. "We haven't had the best luck with weather there the past few months. I thought you were happy to come to America. Experience some _warmth _for a change."

"I didn't mind it being cold," said Ami, blushing.

Zoicite grinned wickedly. Their first two months in Britain had been cold and gray, which just meant they had retreated to a warm bed whenever possible. As they moved east towards Italy, and to visit Kunzite and Jadeite, their time together became few and far between. The climate was warmer and the courts more energized. Those rainy, London mornings seemed like a vacation now.

Ami wasn't homesick, Zoicite decided. She just missed their time together.

"We never saw any heat lightning while we were in Britain, though," he said, bending down to kiss the delicate curve were her neck and shoulder met.

"Maybe we just weren't looking for it," joked Ami. Her voice shook as his teeth grazed her skin.

"We could create our own heat lightning," said Zoicite huskily, pulling her tightly against him from behind.

"You don't have anywhere else to be?" she breathed.

Zoicite went through his schedule mentally. Yes. He had a few, last minute meetings that consisted of him sitting around with six other men. They'd argue with Nephrite, drink, and smoke. Zoicite would sit off to the side. Sure, Nephrite had specifically asked that Zoicite accompany him for some moral support, but...

_I'll buy him an apologetic fruit basket or something_, thought Zoicite as he nipped at his lover's shoulder.

"Not anymore," he answered.


	9. Ends

**Theme:** #3 - Ends  
**Genre:** Angst/Romance  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG

...  
**Missing Her  
**...

He couldn't remember when the fatigue wore its way into his bones. His heart even seemed to be sluggish, beating a steady tempo deep in his chest. Zoicite laid his head against cool, polished sapphire. There was no use pretending. His time was coming to an end.

Just as his wife's had.

Zoicite ran his fingertips over the blue stone, tracing the outline of the hazy figure underneath. A senshi's death was such a cruel taunt, leaving the body as young and supple as it had been hundreds of years ago. Mercury's lips were still a soft blush of pink and her skin inviting as ever. She could have just been asleep, her hands resting gracefully on her stomach and her lips parted a fraction of an inch.

She had been quietly complaining she was tired when she had passed.

"Let me fall asleep here," she had said.

They had been lying in their daughter's sitting room, relaxing after the large meal they'd been served. Amalthea had out done herself. Obviously, spending time with Mako-mama had given her the advanced cooking skills neither of her parents possessed.

Something about that night had felt special. They'd taken dinner as a family, and ate till half comatose. Zoicite had envisioned leftovers would have to be snuck into the normal dining hall for the next three months as he flopped down on the couch. Ami had been shooed from the clean up operation, and took no time in snuggling into his lap. He had kissed her dark head as she leaned against him and yawned. Zoicite still remembered the scent of her soap, soft and subtle like an unfurling flower.

If Lir, their son, had been awake, he would have demanded his parents sit an "appropriate" distance apart, but since he was dozing peacefully on the love seat, Zoicite took pleasure in holding his wife. She had sighed softly against his neck.

"Let me fall asleep here." Her eyes had been half-lidded and sleepy, churning a dark, muddy blue under her lashes. Zoicite remembered kissing the palm of her hand. He was going to tease her, but her hands had been so cold, shocking his sluggish senses. He had breathed on her icy fingers and pressed them to his chest. Ami had clutched at his shirt as he ran his warm palm down her arm. Even her forehead felt too chilled on his neck.

Zoicite still remembered the painful contraction in his chest. She had said it a week ago. Their time, as senshi and shitennou, was ending. Their children were young and strong. Amalthea and Lir were bright and compassionate. They'd take their place with ease when the time came to "go."

Go. She'd known her time was up. Zoicite just hadn't wanted to see it. He had called her back to bed, teasing her.

"I'm not ready to keel over just yet!" he had said, nipping the swell of her breast. Ami had squealed. He had thought everything was back to normal.

Then, there they were, in their daughter's sitting room. And she was leaving him.

"I'm just so tired," Ami had whispered.

He couldn't keep her. In order for something to begin, there always has to be an end. But it took all his will power to bite back a bitter sob that had been welling in the back of his throat.

"Then go to sleep, darling," he had answered, voice strangled.

She had paused, breathing deep. "Thank you."

Zoicite whispered how he loved her until he felt her drift, those blue eyes slowly drooping shut. He didn't have to wonder if she was gone. The steady ache in his chest answered it for him.

A year later, his heart still ached painfully.

"Papa?" Zoicite stood to face his daughter. Her dark hair was brushed and braided away from her anxious face. Zoicite frowned. Only eighteen and already so serious.

_Like her mother_, he thought before answering, "I was just saying goodnight."

Amalthea paused. Her lips were twitching, trying not to fold into a frown. "Papa..." Zoicite gazed at her calmly. "I think you coming here all the time is a little unhealthy. And I know Mama would agree."

"Well, she's not here to nag me," he teased.

Amalthea didn't miss the glaze of sorrow across his eyes. It muddled the green, making them dark and hard. She bit her bottom lip.

"Can I bring you anything when you head up to bed?" she asked.

"Just a glass of milk, please, Thea," he said, turning back to the sapphire casket.

That was his dismissal. Amalthea took it, leaving her father to his thoughts. Honestly, the time he spent in the small shrine was beginning to make her uncomfortable. He had started skipping important meetings, and forcing her or Lir to go in his stead. When he was confronted, he waved them off.

"You mother needed me more," he would say almost playfully. Like it was a big joke.

But there was a heavy and dark sorrow that lurked in his tone and behind his eyes. Amalthea always remembered her father immaculate, with an arrogant posture and a carefree air. This new man roamed the halls like a wild animal, flaxen curls in disarray and eyes sunken from lack of sleep. He ate too little and drank too much, laughed too loud when it was inappropriate and frowned more often.

Slipping into her sitting room, she leaned back against the shut door and took deep, calculated breaths. Her father was incurable. All her mother's medical textbooks and her brief healing classes told her she couldn't cure something that didn't physically exist.

She couldn't cure heartbreak.

"I thought you were bringing Father back with you," said Lir, peering over the back of the couch.

He was trying desperately to get over a nasty cold, and was bundled in quilts and afghans. Amalthea had left him soup and a cold compress before she'd gone out for the day. Lir was clutching the ice pack as if his life depended on it. Her heart ached for him. Though he was past the age to be coddled, their mother had always been the one to deal with illnesses. She pampered her family when they were sick. Lir had to be missing her gentle comfort.

"Papa's going to bed soon," said Amalthea. "I just wanted to check on you before I head towards the kitchens."

"I'm fine," Lir said stubbornly.

Amalthea crossed to the couch and pressed an experienced hand to his forehead. "You little liar," she teased.

He swatted her away. "What was Father doing anyway?" Lir inquired, trying to change the subject.

He realized he had asked the wrong question a second too late. Amalthea had to bite her fingers for a second to keep the tears at bay, glancing away from her brother's blue eyes. He had their mother's eyes.

"Missing her," she said.


	10. Broken

**Thanks so much to**: IAmTheBattleMaiden (_Thank you for the criticism! Point noted :)_ ), Lilian, justsukiya, A'Wunderkind, and asga for reviewing. It's very much appreciated!

**Theme:** #71 - Broken  
**Genre:** Humor/General  
**Version:** AU**  
Rating:** G

...  
**A Man's Gotta Be Useful**  
...

"That's the third time this month," grumbled Makoto as she watched Ami fiddle with their old, defective vacuum cleaner. "I think we need a new one."

"No, there's just this _one_ piece that needs to be replaced," said Ami. Her slender fingers prodded into the head of the machine.

Makoto watched her friend work for a second before the bathroom door flew open. A sleepy Zoicite stumbled out, toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth, and one hand tangled in his un-brushed mane of blond hair. He grunted a good morning before seeing Ami elbow deep in vacuum bag dust and dislodged bristles.

"What's wrong with the vacuum?" asked Zoicite, perking up.

"Broken," said Ami.

"Again?"

"Mm."

"That's what you get for vacuuming when normal people are trying to sleep." She shot him a dirty look. "Fine," he said. "Would you like me to take a look at it?"

Makoto and Ami exchanged a glance before the disemboweled machine was handed over to Zoicite. He messed with it for a few minutes, toothbrush clenched steady between his teeth, before holding up the faulty piece and inserting it back into its slot.

"Er.." began Makoto. Ami elbowed her in the ribs.

"That thing keeps falling out," explained Zoicite. Ami nodded attentively. "We should probably just get a new vacuum."

"But--" Makoto tried again, but cringed away as Ami came too close with those sharp little elbows. "Yeah. New vacuum," she ended feebly.

"Thank you," said Ami, raising her face to receive an affectionate kiss on the forehead from a very pleased shitennou.

"You're very welcome," beamed Zoicite. He flashed the girls a triumphant smile before disappearing back into the bathroom.

Makoto raised an eyebrow at Ami, as the vacuum was carefully set into the back of the hall closet.

"I thought you said it just had to be fixed," said Makoto.

"I'll fix it tomorrow," said Ami. "It's just nice to humor him. He wants to be useful."

"But won't he notice the old vacuum is still here?" the brunette asked. Ami giggled.

"Makoto, you should know by now that Zoicite doesn't do chores."


	11. Children

**Theme: **#28 - Children  
**Genre: **Humor  
**Version: **AU  
**Rating:** PG

...  
**Act Your Age  
**...

Zoicite had never seen Ami look so frightening, and yet ridiculous, all at the same time. She was covered in flour, blowing it out her nose and trying to wipe it off her tongue. When she moved, it snowed. He would have beamed at his handiwork if she weren't glaring at him like a cat that had just been sprayed with the hose.

"Zoicite!" she sputtered. "How old are you, honestly? Five?"

He bit back a chuckle, which only made her stare narrow in a more threatening manner.

"You said to hand you the flour," he said.

"I meant in the bowl."

"Oops." Zoicite couldn't contain his grin any longer, and smiled so hard he thought he felt his jaw pop. Ami, however, was not amused, and simply went back to making batter as if nothing had happened. Zoicite thought she was stirring a little too viciously, though. "I'm sorry, Darling," he said sheepishly. "You can egg me if you'd like? Just possibly not in the hair..."

"No," snapped Ami. "I won't stoop to your level of childish behavior."

Dejection. Zoicite slumped his shoulders, feeling properly chided. Maybe it had been a little immature to throw flour on his wife. He chewed on one, blond curl and tried to catch her eye, but Ami had years of experience freezing people out of the room. She refused to throw him a bone.

"Will you get the chocolate chips down in the cabinet?" she asked evenly.

Zoicite rushed to comply, dropping under the counter and starting to rifle through the large selection of ingredients.

_SPLAT_.

He froze, trying to fully comprehend what just landed in his immaculate hair, what was oozing down the side of his face and onto his leg. Another splat, and part of an egg yolk dribbled down his nose.

Ami grinned at him when he stood back up and pegged her with a stare that could have scared the stink off a skunk.

"Oops," she said.

"I don't like it when you play _that_ game," he responded, trying to keep a straight face. They looked ridiculous, dripping flour and egg whites all over the counter and into the batter bowl. _It'll have to be thrown out,_ he thought.

"You should know better by now," said Ami.

"Indeed. You taught me a valuable lesson," said Zoicite. "Now have a cookie."

A handful of ruined, wet cookie batter rolled off Ami's face and down her apron. She spat some of it out, and scraped it from her eyes. Zoicite's innocent smile beamed back at her. She covered it up with her own fist full of goo.

A few minutes later was when Makoto decided to return, carting armfuls of groceries that she nearly dropped when she saw the mess in her beloved kitchen. She glanced around angrily for the culprits, and found Ami and Zoicite on the floor, laughing like hyenas and wiping cookie batter from each other's faces. Her eyes narrowed as Zoicite leaned in, Ami's eyes closed, and their bodies slid closer together.

"Not in my kitchen!" snarled Makoto, rushing to the sink and grabbing the spray nozzle. Ami and Zoicite jumped apart, shrieking, as the cold water hit them.

When Makoto went for the broom, they retreated, tripping over each other and laughing as they went.


	12. Parents

**Theme: **#27 - Parent  
**Genre: **General  
**Version: **Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** G

...  
**Your Second Chance  
**...

Little hands, little toes, a little nose, and little ears. Zoicite didn't think he'd ever seen something so small. Small, but _oh-so-perfect_. He brushed his wetted lips over his tiny daughter's dark fuzz of hair and smiled. A new, vibrant feeling resonated deep in his heart as he breathed in the soft baby smell. This was what he had been waiting for.

This little girl was a fresh slate, a person who would know him only as he truly was. There weren't any nasty memories. She wouldn't wake up at night, dreaming of blood and seeing him through the red haze. This was his second chance. This was the chance he never had the first time.

Zoicite rocked back and forth slowly, the wooden arcs of the chair grating over the old stone. He made a mental note to get more rugs, but the sound was actually comforting. He was sitting in the nursery he had helped to build, rocking his daughter on a lazy Sunday morning.

He smiled. He was rocking _his daughter_.

The soft patter of frantic feet advanced down the hall, and suddenly a disheveled Ami was leaning in the doorway. She seemed out of breath, eyes wild and robe open. She'd fallen asleep in one of his shirts, and had buttoned it up the wrong way. When he turned to look at her, she shifted sheepishly from foot to foot, trying to cover her slender legs more thoroughly with the lopsided shirt.

"You let me fall back to sleep," she said softly.

"I thought you could use another hour or so," he explained, turning back to gaze at their baby. "I think I have it all under control here."

Ami bit her bottom lip, taking in the glowing morning light filtering in through the nursery windows. The room glistened a soft, comforting pink. For a second, it seemed too perfect, the man and child sitting in the rocking chair too angelic and loving, that she was afraid it'd disappear. Ami took a tentative step forward. Zoicite turned to meet her eyes again, and smiled.

The spell broke. Ami was part of that picture now, giving her husband an affectionate kiss on the temple and running a palm over the soft, downy hair on her daughter's head. The baby flailed a little, mouth puckering before drifting open for big yawn.

They stayed in silence, enjoying their little family. The family they deserved, wanted, and worked so hard to achieve. Contentment spread through Ami's bones, making her feel sleepy again.

Then, Zoicite sighed.

"She's cute when she isn't screaming," he joked.

Ami had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing too loud.


	13. Lunch

**Thank you to**: A'Wunderkind, justsukiya, asga, Traser SyberJedi, Lilian (_You're making me blush and expanding my ego to new heights, you know!_), Hidden Firecracker (_Glad three per post was a good idea, too. I keep wanting to post just one or two, but I intended to hold strong. Three's a good number... It's also my favorite number :) _), and IAmTheBattleMaiden (_ Not mean at all! Criticism is always welcome. It's a big part of being a writer. Feel free to give your two cents anytime!_) for reviewing. It's very much appreciated!

**Theme: **#57 - Lunch  
**Genre: **Humor  
**Version: **AU  
**Rating:** G

...  
**I'll Have What She's Having  
**...

Zoicite regarded Ami's lunch skeptically. Sure, it was just a sandwich, but it was a _monster_ of a sandwich. There were sauces and types of pickles and relish on it the likes he never considered as a sandwich spread, and he was actually kind of mortified at the idea of Ami actually eating it.

"What?" she asked, sandwich poised for ingestion.

"Nothing," he replied. Ami continued to stare, so he elaborated: "That's just a little disgusting."

"You're making _that_ face because of my sandwich?" she asked.

Zoicite hadn't been aware he was making any sort of face, and carefully tried to arrange his expression into something more neutral. "Can you even fit that thing in your mouth?" he asked.

Ami scowled. "Why don't you just eat your own lunch?"

Looking down at the rather pathetic looking omelet he'd cooked up, Zoicite bit his lip to keep from pouting. Ami watched him curiously for a second before going back to her sandwich, taking small, careful bites. Opening the book in front of her, she started to read as she ate. So far, the plot was moving slow, but she was holding out hope it'd redeem itself soon. Or at least before lunch was over.

She actually almost forgot about Zoicite until the sink began to run and the omelet was deposited in the trash. Watching him rummage through the refrigerator, she furrowed her brow.

"What're you doing?" she asked as he started setting condiments and three kinds of sliced meat on the counter in front of her. A drop of condensation from the mustard jar landed on her book, and she frantically tried to flick it off before it did any damage. "Zoi!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Uh.."

She looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"Will you make me a sandwich?"


	14. Heart

**Theme: **#47 "Heart"  
**Genre: **Romance  
**Version: **AU  
**Rating:** G

...  
**Heart in the Sand  
**...

The tide was lapping at their feet, sucking soft sand back out into the ocean. Ami giggled as a piece of seaweed tickled her toes, while Zoicite just looked a tad disgusted and moved it a safe distance away with the walking stick he'd found an hour ago. Thus far, it'd been a cane, a poker, a crab punter (much to Ami's vexation), and a seaweed remover.

It was about to become a pencil. "Will you write my name again?" he asked, handing Ami the cane.

After walking a ways away from the hungry ocean, Ami complied with quick, careful strokes. Zoicite frowned.

"Do you ever feel annoyed that we rarely speak Japanese together?" he asked, trying to mimic her lines with his toe. They came out shaky and mangled.

"No. I enjoy speaking English," she said. "As they say: 'practice makes perfect.'" Ami smiled, exuding infinite patience. "Besides, I'll teach you. Just like I taught the girls English. You can expand your Japanese."

Zoicite took the stick back, and wrote his name as she had done. "Now do yours," he said.

Ami complied, writing her name, and handed their pencil back. Beneath his name, he wrote hers. It came out halfway legible. Then, with tongue clenched softly between his teeth, Zoicite encircled their names with a large, lopsided heart. Ami laughed.

"That's fairly universal," she said. Pause. "Wait, that's a heart, right?"

Zoicite appeared wounded. "Of course it is! Is my art not good enough for you?"

"It's very cute... But would you like me to teach you to draw, too?"

"Har har," he said.

Laughing, they moved on down the beach, and the tide dutifully washed the sand clean.


	15. Not Enough

**Theme: **#34 - Not Enough  
**Genre:** Drama/General  
**Version:** Silver Millennium  
**Rating:** PG-13 (leaning towards R-ish)**  
**

...  
**Addicted To You  
**...

There had never been enough alcohol, enough battles, or enough willing bed partners. Zoicite felt like there was like a large, insatiable monster chewing his insides, slobbering over his life and making it one, big mess. He couldn't control it, couldn't make it slow down. So, he had accepted it, and became insatiable himself.

When he drank, he drank to excess, often having to be drug back to his tent at night. Skirmishes were conducted hung over, and with a carnal viciousness that earned an amount of respect mingled with a healthy sense of fear. When other soldiers cheered for victory, Zoicite lamented that no one else would stand against him. His anger never seemed un-vented, his blood lust, like his real lust, never slaked. And because of it, he wasn't a gentle lover, finding passion and violence to be one in the same.

And then he had stumbled on _her_ while looking for his liege. Awkward, innocent, and undeniably untouchable. There had been something special about her. He saw it at the beginning. Her newness, a seal unbroken, had made him want her. Zoicite liked being the first to conquer new challenges, new people. And she was one hell of a challenge.

She ran from him the first time, but had sought him out later. No matter that it was just to return the cloak he'd "loaned" her. She had still come back. Zoicite had pounced on the situation, and pursued her aggressively. That was the first time he saw himself, what he'd become, and felt a nausea-inducing wave of shame wash over his body. Her eyes, those clear, innocent eyes, regarded him like filth. She rejected him.

They had fought before she disappeared, but not the way Zoicite was used to women or scorned lovers fighting. She didn't scream or cry; there weren't any hidden traps or manipulation in her words. Her voice was steady and calm, smothering the fire of his argument and extinguishing his anger. Zoicite was left feeling shaky and spent after her departure, clinging to a garden wall.

He didn't expect her to return, but she did. To apologize. And he had laughed at her. Needless to say, they fought again, and Zoicite enjoyed it. This was a different kind of battle, more mental than physical, and it could last for hours or days or weeks. There wasn't any overwhelming need to win between them. From an argument it became a debate, and from a debate to a conversation. Their meetings became weekly, and the matter less broad and more personal.

Zoicite surprised himself with what he would tell the little woman, the secrets and insecurities that would dribble out of his mouth like excess water. She pulled it from him, coaxing with a gentle word, a specific expression, and a soft nod of the head. She listened like Jadeite and Nephrite tried to, like Kunzite couldn't. She listened like Endymion wished he could.

And the longer they talked, the more they realized they had in common. Both prisoners of their own destiny, both trapped mentally and emotionally. When she told him her origins with cautious resolve, Zoicite had no option but to rule the information as insignificant.

"Faithful Mercury," he had said, tentatively caressing her cheek with his knuckle. She allowed it.

Zoicite fell in love.

Soon, he found their weekly meetings not enough. He became addicted to her voice, her attention, and her touch. When she could get away, she came to Earth, and he took her to his homeland. They toured the more remote areas of Italy and up to Germany and Scotland, away from the capital and the people who might know her name and face. His people loved her. He loved her, and she committed to him.

"I'm a fool to love you," she told him.

Zoicite just laughed. It was all he could think to do. Yes, they were committing an act of treason by being together, by sitting side by side, and by holding hands and strolling chastely along the Thames in a spring thunderstorm. When he held her, Zoicite tried to remind himself of Endymion, his loyalty, his purpose in life, but found all three rewritten. It was hopeless.

Finally, he was becoming the man he wanted to be, had hoped to be. He restrained and reevaluated. He lived differently, slept differently, loved differently. For the first time, he allowed a partner into his room, his most sacred dwelling. He let her examine his things and blanket childhood toys with a soft, respectful touch. He took her in his bed, and for the first time connected the animalistic act of sex with love and passion and the sharp, pleasurable feeling that her aroused gasps gave him. For once, he wanted to touch, caress, and learn instead of take and hurt. Her first was his as well, and they made a lesson of it, learning to play each other like a finely tuned instrument.

Zoicite could admit the monster was still there, lurking inside of him, unsatisfied. But even it had changed. After weeks apart, Zoicite would begin to hum with anticipation. The monster moaned, neglected.

And then she would come, soft slippers crunching sweet, spring grass or dead, fall leaves. He'd cup her face, a chaste kiss turning hungry and demanding. He couldn't help it. One kiss was not enough. One caress, one glance, or one smile wasn't enough. He wanted there to be a lifetime of kisses, caresses, glances, and smiles. But was a lifetime really sufficient, either?

_She'll be the death of me_, he thought lightly as Mercury tangled her small hands in his hair, bringing his lips closer, begging for a kiss. Zoicite complied.

_I can never get enough of her_.


	16. Breakfast

**Author's Note**: **The next three drabbles focus on Ami and Zoicite with a family**. Honestly, all these drabbles are in some way connected through out the large plot I've worked out for these two. Names will never change, their children won't suddenly change appearance, and their past won't up and twist on you. I just felt the need to clarify that. I've tried to write out their whole story, starting with the Silver Millennium, but never succeeded in finishing the first chapter. Poo. I might try my hand at it again, though… Someday.

**Thank you to**: tzusuko, justsukiya, Princess Irulan, A'Wunderkind, Lilian (_Really? I've tried to read most of your stories, and don't remember it. Back to your info page then! Haha. For some reason, I only see Kunzite being a native speaker, with Jadeite having moved and learned the language from a young age... because it's just unrealistic to try to pass of a naturally blond man as Japanese xD_ ), IAmTheBattleMaiden, and amazoness for reviewing. You're all too kind! No. Really. You are!

**Theme: **#56 - Breakfast  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating**: G

...  
**Pop Tart Blues  
**...

Zoicite felt helpless, standing in front of his two children holding a package of pop tarts in one hand and oatmeal in the other. This just wasn't his area. By the time he woke up, Ami normally had the kids sitting at the small table at the back of the kitchen, eating something mildly healthy and enjoying her own breakfast with the local newspaper open.

"So?" he asked, wiggling the pop tarts. Zoicite could command a whole army, but he couldn't get his kids to eat. It was a little embarrassing. "Which is it?"

Amalthea had a very pronounced frown. Zoicite could see himself clearly in her by the way her bottom lip was set, but her eyes were sharp and clever like Ami's. _Ami_. He had to bite back the urge to run to the nearest web cam and ask what he should do. Ami trusted him not to kill their children when she had gone back to Tokyo so suddenly, and he didn't intend to let her down.

After all, he didn't want to kill his children, either. He was fairly fond of them.

"Is it watermelon?" Amalthea asked. She regarded him and the pop tart packet critically.

"I don't know," Zoicite admitted.

"I like the watermelon kind."

"Well, don't you want to try new things?"

"No."

_Ugh._ He wondered if it'd be too harsh to just make the kid some scrambled eggs and force her to eat them. Life wasn't all watermelon pop tarts after all.

"Thea, couldn't you just pick something?" he asked. "For your papa?"

She continued to frown. Zoicite looked at Lir, hoping one of them would throw him a bone, but found the toddler staring tearfully at the ceiling. He estimated that he had about five minutes before the baby decided to start screaming. Zoicite winced. What did Ami normally give him, anyway?

He blinked. Cheerios. _Oh thank God_. Zoicite abandoned the pop tarts and oatmeal and started rummaging in one of the pantries. When Amalthea began to whine, he couldn't have been prouder. Obviously, he was on the right track.

"I don't want cereal," she said, chewing on her fingers.

"I'm getting it for your brother," he tried to explain, surfacing with a box of Cheerios. He poured a liberal amount in the high chair tray in front of his son and watched the toddler pick at it carefully, popping one in his mouth and sucking. Good. One down. One time to go.

"Why can't I have cereal?" asked Amalthea as she watched Lir eat. Zoicite wanted to go stick his head in the closest oven.

"You just said you didn't _want_ cereal," he said, trying to remain calm. The morning cooks were streaming in, getting ready to prepare food for the entire palace. Zoicite glanced at a few pleadingly, and was met with sympathetic shrugs and glances. Why did Ami have to feed the kids herself, anyway? It gave them too many choices. It made them flex their power of independent thought. Zoicite pinched the bridge of his nose.

Amalthea stared at him curiously. "Can I have ice cream?" she asked.

"No!" Zoicite snapped. Amalthea looked at her feet. "Honestly, Thea, are you just doing this because Mama isn't here?" The little girl pursed her little lips together and seemed to be calculating the best course of action. She recoiled as her father bent down to her level, and looked up at the high ceiling, trying to avoid him. "Because it doesn't matter if Mama's gone," he explained. "Rules are rules."

_Hm_, Zoicite thought. _Ironic I'm the one saying that now._

Amalthea still refused to meet his eyes, and Zoicite decided children were like animals. They could smell fear. He was starting to panic. If she started to cry, he wasn't quite sure what he'd do. He'd always been a sucker for crying women, especially his daughter. He just found it hard to deny her.

As the tears started to emerge, Zoicite blanched.

"I'll dance for you if you just eat the pop tart, Thea!" he blurted.

"Really?" she sniffed.

"Yes," he sighed.

"The silly one?"

"Sure. But you have to eat the pop tart I give you."

"Okay."

"And this just stays between us, all right?" he pressed. Ami wouldn't like him bribing the children.

Amalthea nodded enthusiastically, taking the unwrapped pastry from him. It turned out to be watermelon.


	17. Christmas

**Theme: **#92 - Christmas  
**Genre:** General  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating**: PG

...  
**Happy Christmas  
**...

It was five o' clock in the morning and Zoicite had just managed to crash into bed. Christmas was a busy time, what with the New Year steadily approaching and the weather being nasty. Housing, transportation, bill renewal, and a few ethical issues were always crammed into a small number of weeks. And with two, growing children, the demand on their time meant that Ami moved around the Tower like a zombie, and Zoicite slept with his eyes open during advisory meetings.

Even though it _was_ Christmas, Zoicite just could not drudge up the proper cheer the holiday called for. The most he could do with his tired body was snuggle up against Ami's warm side and enjoy the comforting scent of her shampoo as he whirled down into unconsciousness.

Maybe he'd been asleep an hour or two. Maybe he'd only just closed his eyes. Zoicite wasn't sure, but it seemed like he'd only been out for a second before tiny, insistent fingers were digging into his ribs and pulling at his hair.

"Papa." Someone whispered harshly in his ear.

"Mgrph," he replied.

"Papa, do you think Santa came?"

Zoicite's eyes snapped open and tried to adjust to the dim light. He swiveled his head, and found two large, gray eyes staring back at him with eagerness.

"Amalthea?" he murmured, trying to buy himself some time. Maybe she'd give up and go back to bed if he skirted the subject long enough.

"Papa..." the little girl continued to whisper. Her dark hair tickled his nose as she leaned over to poke her mother. Ami tensed against him and grunted, jolted out of a dream. "It's Christmas," Amalthea said a little louder.

Behind her, silhouetted by hallway light, was Lir. Zoicite groaned. Amalthea insisted on dragging the toddler everywhere with her. She loved her brother. But now they had two, eager children to contend with. _How the hell did she get him out of the crib, anyway?_ Zoicite wondered.

"Thea, Dear," Ami tried gently. "Go back to bed."

"But it's Christmas," the girl insisted. "Santa probably came."

"The presents aren't going to disappear," said Zoicite. "They'll be there in an hour."

_Please, just give me an hour_, he pleaded.

But Amalthea didn't move. Her hot, night breath worked on the back of Zoicite's neck after he rolled back over. _This kid is really persistent_, he thought. And then lamented that she probably got it from him.

"Ami," he said softly. His wife grunted. "Lir's out of bed, too."

For just being woken out of a dead sleep, Ami sat up surprisingly fast.

"On the floor?" she asked, voice frantic as she tried to disentangle herself from the warm blankets. The castle was cold at night, and her mind went automatically to every illness a toddler could contract being walked around the hallways and sitting on the frigid, stone floor.

"He's on a rug," mumbled Zoicite. Ami smacked him with a pillow, which elicited a soft moan.

"Mama, please!" pleaded Amalthea. "Santa?"

It was suddenly very apparent neither of them would be sleeping anymore.

"Thea," Ami began before a yawn halted her momentarily. "Excuse me. Mm. Go get your coat. And Lir's too, please."

The little girl went crashing over Zoicite, who whimpered slightly as her tiny knees dug into his stomach, and sat up while rubbing his side to watch as she ran off down the hall.

"You're not seriously thinking of going out across that _freezing_ courtyard, are you?" he asked, watching his wife pluck their son off the hall rug and deposit him, giggling, onto their bed. Zoicite sighed as Lir crawled over and tried to stand in his lap. Tiny, claw like fingers clung to his hair. "Hey, kid," said Zoicite wearily. Lir regarded him with wide, awake eyes. "Give your old man a break." The toddler complied by crashing against his collarbone, snuggling into the warm crook of his neck. Zoicite smoothed his son's wild, tawny curls and sighed. "Thank you."

"Whose idea was it to put the tree in a separate wing, hm?" asked Ami as she rummaged for her robe.

"I thought that would deter them!" snapped Zoicite.

"They're children, Zoi!" laughed Ami. "They're probably the most one-minded beings on the planet!"

"Well, you never stopped me!" he whined.

"That's because it took you three hours to get the tree straight," she said. "I thought you might throw yourself off the ladder if I told you to set it up somewhere else." Zoicite sulked, because she was right. "Besides, the cold will wake you up."

"Who says I'm going out there?" he sputtered. Ami shot him a look that didn't leave any room for argument. "All right. Where's my coat?" She threw it on his feet. "Thank you."

Snow boots clomped down the hall, and soon Amalthea was standing in the doorway, coat half zipped and one glove missing. She was breathless with excitement, hopping from foot to foot.

"It's snowing!" she nearly shrieked. Lir flopped down on Zoicite's knees, making happy noises, oblivious to his father's grunt of pain.

"Wait!" Ami cried, trying to catch her daughter as she bounded off down the hall. "Thea, you're not dressed to go out yet!"

Holding Lir's coat that Amalthea left sitting in the hall, and looking from one child to the next, Ami was frantically trying to decide who should be bundled first. Zoicite motioned he'd take Lir. Thea was probably halfway to the main hall by then anyway.

Throwing Lir's coat on Zoicite's, Ami rushed over to give them both a hasty kiss on the forehead. Zoicite grabbed her wrist before she could rush away, demanding a more satisfying peck on the lips.

"Happy Christmas," he said.

"Happy Christmas," she breathed. And then she was off down the hall, her own coat half undone.

Lir gazed at his father curiously, picking up clumps of comforter in his chubby, little hands. Zoicite bounced him for a second, letting the atmosphere calm before he decided to get up and face the day yet again.

"Well, little man," he said, addressing his son pleasantly. "Happy Christmas."


	18. Writer's Choice Makeup

**Theme: **#96 - Writer's Choice //Make-up  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating**: G

...  
**Positive Reinforcement  
**...

They had fifteen minutes estimated Zoicite, glancing at the clock in the bathroom. He sighed and tried to center himself. He hated ties. Most of the time he could get away with not wearing one by sporting the more traditional tunic and slacks ensemble for important events, but Ami had made it clear what the French expected for this dinner party when she had thrown a green tie across his lap and walked off with a conservative, black dress in hand.

Cursing softly, he picked at the knot he'd created and tried again. It came out a big mess, like it had the last twenty times, and Zoicite tried to refrain from drowning himself in the toilet.

"Ami," he whined, hoping she could hear him. This was just not his night. He was passing the ball. At least one of them could tie a tie under pressure.

Silence.

"Ami!"

No answer.

Zoicite frowned and ambled into the bedroom. Two dark heads turned to stare at him, and he froze. While Ami had never been the kind of girl to wear make-up, she found it essential once she had children. The image of her and Amalthea sitting together at Ami's vanity, playing with the carefully bottled make-up wasn't a strange sight, though.

Ami with hot pink eyeliner and lipstick was. Zoicite had to cram his tie into his mouth to keep from laughing. Ami didn't look in the least perturbed.

"Yes?" she asked. Amalthea beamed at her parents.

"My, you look beautiful, Darling," he choked, the tie dribbling back into his hands as he found some self-restraint.

"Thank you," said Ami.

"I did it!" proclaimed Amalthea.

"I can see that," said Zoicite, moving to kiss the top of his daughter's dark, curly hair. He turned to look at Ami again. She raised an eyebrow. That was all it took. He lost it, shoulders heaving as he tried to swallow his hysterical laughter.

"Thea, why don't you go and get Mama's necklace over on the night table?" suggested Ami.

As Amalthea ran off to comply, Zoicite flopped down on the vanity bench. "You look frightening!" he chortled.

"It washes off," said Ami.

"Oh good. You're not going to come to bed like that, then, because I think I'd scream."

Ami scowled. "You're being very negative about your daughter's artwork."

"It's a good thing she didn't decide to model you after the Mona Lisa," he said gleefully. "I have a feeling that a lack of eyebrows would look frightening on you."

Thea returned then, carrying the string of pearls carefully in her little hands. Ami took them, thanking her, before getting up to use the bathroom.

"Wait!" said Zoicite, holding up his tie. "Ami, please?"

She regarded him coolly, and then slipped from view. Zoicite grunted. Amalthea just looked confused.

"Can I make you up, too?" she asked her father, voice hopeful.

"I think it's best if you don't, Love," he said, recoiling slightly. Amalthea pouted. "Er, but..." She perked. "I don't suppose your mother taught you how to tie a tie?" Amalthea shook her head, and Zoicite sighed.

"Can I just do a little bit?" she pleaded.

Zoicite slumped against the vanity as he handed her a brush. "I guess a little blush won't hurt," he said.


	19. Taste

**Author's Notes**: These next few drabbles feel kind of weak to me, but I'm sure I'll shake the feeling if I keep chuggin' along.

**Thanks to**: asga, IAmTheBattleMaiden, Hidden Firecracker (_Heck, I wish I could characterize the perfect man for _myself_! Though, I wouldn't mind snagging Zoicite for a while.. ;)_ ), justsukiya, A'Wunderkind, and Lilian (_PLEASE write a Daddy!Zoi fic! Are you kidding? I should smack you for that comment. You'd pwn my drabbles if you wrote your own family fics. Pwn them good. :P And I wouldn't mind one bit! Good Ami/Zoi is so hard to come by, and you write them beautifully. To reiterate: DO IT!_) for reviewing. I'm very grateful.

**Theme:** #39 - Taste  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating: **PG-13

…  
**Bite Off More Than You Can Chew  
**…

Usagi and Minako couldn't help but stare. The mark was fascinating to them, too big for a hickey and not the right coloring. Even though Ami continued to sip her tea and talk like nothing at all was the matter, they gapped openly, heads cocked to the side in unified confusion.

"Ami-chan?" interrupted Usagi. The woman in question paused, jolted out of her thrilling story about the most recent book she was reading. Her blue eyes widened expectantly, encouraging the question. "Uh.." Usagi trailed.

"What?" asked Ami, hands flying to her face. "Do I have ink on my forehead again? I try to check now whenever I fall asleep on the newspaper..."

"No," said Usagi. She was still trying to find the right thing to say.

Luckily, she had Minako with her. The other blond could shove discretion out a twelve-story window at a moment's notice. "Ami-chan, what is that on your neck?" she asked.

Ami's mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprised as she tried to pull the collar of her shirt up over the angry, red and purple mark. "It's nothing," she stammered.

"Aw, come on, Ami-chan," coaxed Minako, a huge grin breaking out on her face. "That's not nothing. Let me see it? That can't be a hickey!"

"Because it's not," said Ami stubbornly. "And no. You may not see it!"

Minako reached across the table and tried to tug on Ami's sleeve to expose the abrasion, but got her hands slapped. When Ami picked up a fork, Minako retreated fully.

"Aw, please?" pleaded Minako. "Don't make me guess..."

"Minako!" snapped Ami. "Honestly. It's not that interesting!"

"Yes, it is!" argued the blond.

Usagi just sat in silence, covering her mouth with her napkin to muffle her giggling. When Mamoru and Zoicite returned with fresh drinks, she buried her face in Mamoru's arm, her shoulders shaking with amusement.

"What'd we miss?" asked Mamoru, perplexed.

"Ami has a hickey!" proclaimed Minako.

"Minako!" said Ami, this time with exasperation.

Zoicite's face nearly cracked as a large grin popped into existence. "That's not a hickey," he said, sliding in beside Ami and taking a sip of his coffee.

Minako and Usagi stared at him expectantly. Zoicite seemed to be engrossed in putting liberal amounts of sugar and cream into is drink, and ignored them both. Ami glared at him, but he ignored her, too. When he looked back up, he seemed surprised to find everyone's attention on him, and took another calculated sip from his drink.

"Well?" pressed Minako. "What is it?"

"A bite mark," said Zoicite casually.

Silence. Usagi and Minako exchanged glances (one confused, the other slightly shocked), and Mamoru had buried his face in his hands.

"A bite mark?" asked Usagi. "How'd she get that? What bit her?"

Ami had gone red to the roots of her dark hair, and started climbing over Zoicite to get out of the booth. "I'm going to the bathroom!" she announced, voice shrill with embarrassment. Zoicite glowed agreeably.

"No, seriously," continued Usagi. "You guys don't have any pets. What bit her?"

"Usagi..." Minako began slowly. She looked a tad red, too, as she leaned over and offered an explanation into Usagi's eager ear. The odango-ed blonde's mouth fell open as she stared at the lounging Zoicite. He gazed at her smugly.

"You bit Ami-chan?" she squealed, looking a little disgusted.

Zoicite shrugged. "I wanted to know what she tasted like."

"Oh, Zoicite," moaned Mamoru. "Please, keep that to yourself!"

"Well?" interrupted Minako, a naughty grin on her face.

"Well, what?" asked Zoicite.

"Minako..." Mamoru warned.

"What'd she taste like?" the Senshi of Love asked.

Zoicite appeared thoughtful for a moment before he answered, "Whipped cream."

Minako seemed confused. "Huh?"

"Probably because we were playing with it," the shitennou answered wickedly.

"Zoicite, please!" snapped Mamoru, trying to cover his ears. "Ami is a very good friend of mine. I don't want to know what you two do in your free time!"

"It's not always in our free time. Yesterday, we..."

"Ugh!"

Minako burst into laughter as Mamoru made a hasty retreat, looking acutely uncomfortable as he dragged Usagi after him. Zoicite added another sugar packet to his coffee nonchalantly and smiled at the blond across the table.

"I just don't believe Ami could do what you're saying she did," said Minako, resting her chin in her hands. "Kinky sex sessions just don't sound like our Ami-chan."

Zoicite raised one, sharp eyebrow. "You'd be surprised at what she lets me do."

Minako went from looking amused to kind of disturbed, and followed Mamoru and Usagi out of the cafe a second later, hollering for them to wait up. Zoicite just stirred his drink, feeling satisfied.

Leaning back in the booth, he nursed his drink and wondered what Ami would think when she finally built up the nerve to leave the bathroom and face her friends.


	20. Friends

**Theme: **#21 - Friends  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

…  
**BFF  
**…

"You're full of it," laughed Nephrite.

Zoicite just shook his head and smiled. "You're just jealous, because I have friends and you don't," he said, looking smug.

"Name one!" demanded Jadeite.

Makoto and Rei had been trailing the conversation for about twenty minutes and suddenly perked up, eager to hear Zoicite defend himself. They had been discussing how the palace was so isolated, cut off from the world at times even though it was smack in the center of a huge, urban area. And both the shitennou and senshi moved so much from one continent to the other that it was hard to forge normal relationships. When Zoicite had confidently declared that he had friends, everyone was up in arms. Nephrite laughed. Jadeite scoffed.

They couldn't wait to hear what Zoicite could come up for this one.

"Ami," said Zoicite after a second.

Silence.

"She doesn't count," said Nephrite.

"Yes, she does," Zoicite replied, adopting an expression of reverence and pure affection. "She fulfills all the duties of a wife and friend. She's there when I need her. She listens and doesn't bullshit me. There are no secrets between us, not because it strengthens our bond, but because it keeps us fast friends. She knows my processes, but still takes time to learn about me, and from me." He smiled, ending with a dramatic sigh. "Why do I need another friend when I'm married to the perfect one?"

To say Nephrite and Jadeite were on the verge of hysterics was an understatement. Tears of amusement streaked Jadeite's face as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath as he shook with silent laughter. Nephrite was biting the collar of his shirt, trying to keep his chuckling to an appropriate volume.

"You're something else," said Nephrite, regaining some composure. "You know that? You're something else." He elbowed Makoto conspiratorially. "Isn't he?"

But Makoto didn't respond. She practically had stars in her eyes as she gazed at Zoicite with fondness. Even Rei, who wasn't easily swayed (more like turned off) by sappy lines and corny romance skits, seemed to be appreciating the younger shitennou's words.

Nephrite and Jadeite exchanged a glance.

"Oh, Zoi-kun!" gushed Makoto. "That's so adorable!"

"No, it's not!" blurted Jadeite. "He's just playing around!"

Rei and Makoto pegged him with a frightening stare.

"You're not honestly buying that bullshit?" asked Nephrite incredulously, jabbing a finger in Zoicite's direction. The other man rocked back and forth on his heels, the epitome of innocence.

"What are you saying, Nephrite?" asked Zoicite. "You don't feel that way about Mako-chan?"

Nephrite's mouth hung open, looking from Zoicite to Makoto, the later of which looked downright murderous. Rei loomed ominously behind her.

"Er," he articulated.

"Well!" interjected Zoicite cheerfully. "I'm meeting Ami for lunch." He beamed at the women. "I love telling her about my day, you know. Don't want to be late."

"Have a nice time!" said Makoto, waving as he started walking back toward the palace.

"Mako-chan..." Nephrite began, but the look she gave him made him swallow his sentence painfully fast.

"You didn't answer Zoicite's question, Nephrite," she said. "So?"

Rei crossed her arms, and glared at Jadeite. "I wouldn't mind hearing your answer, too, since you found Zoicite's devotion so amusing," she hissed.

Behind the two of them, Zoicite had turned around, and was traipsing back and forth, doing a little dance of victory for Nephrite and Jadeite's benefit. The two men scowled as the blond shimmied and shook his ass in their direction, enjoying their impending pain and misery. When Zoicite started making crude gestures, beaming cheerfully the whole time, Nephrite couldn't take it anymore. He shot him back a gesture of his own.

"Nephrite!" gasped Makoto.

"I was--He... Zoicite is--" he attempted to explain, gesturing wildly behind the two senshi.

When Makoto and Rei turned around, though, all they saw was Zoicite jauntily walking away from them. Nephrite and Jadeite cringed as the two women whirled to face them.

Back in the palace, oblivious to the drama outside, Ami was face down in a book, feeling frustrated and fidgety. Maybe she needed a break from researching ancient lunarian architecture for the new medical district. As if on cue, Zoicite burst through the library doors, hauling a plain, brown bag which he set down across from her and started pulling foodstuff out of like a magician's hat.

"My hero," said Ami gratefully, reaching for a turkey sandwich. Zoicite just beamed and flopped into a chair, stretching out like a satisfied lion. This didn't escape Ami's attention. She eyed him critically. "Good day?" she asked.

"Very," he answered.

"Well, I'll live vicariously through you," she said. "What happened?"

Zoicite's grin widened. "Did I ever tell you that you're my best friend?"

"Yes," said Ami, taking a tiny bite from her sandwich. "I thought you were joking."

"I wasn't."

"Well, that's sweet of you," replied Ami, looking genuinely pleased.

"Friends with benefits, though, right?" he asked as he leaned over the table, tapping his lips for a kiss.

"And the truth comes out," she joked, complying.

Zoicite just grinned.


	21. Green

**Theme: **#14 - Green  
**Genre:** Angst/Romance  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo**  
Rating: **G**  
**

…  
**Mint  
**…

Zoicite was back in Europe, touring Rome after a particularly nasty storm. The people needed him. Homes had collapsed, and they were concerned for the older part of the city. Ami had wanted to go with him, offer help where she could, but Zoicite had forbid it. When his hand had slipped down to the prominent bulge of her belly, and his eyes had flickered possessively, she knew he wouldn't let her go. Her traveling days were temporarily on hold.

But it'd been a month and Ami was becoming antsy. The video communication and frequent phone calls weren't enough anymore. They couldn't hold a candle to actually being held in his arms and seeing him sloppily shove fruit into his mouth every morning. She even missed the wet, sticky kiss he would give her right after.

The rest of the senshi were trying to be supportive. Makoto had invited her to her rooms for a little sleepover while Nephrite was in the Americas for a week. They'd eaten a whole tub of ice cream and cleaned out part of the junk food cabinet while looking through the twelve baby books Ami had bought.

But after Makoto had fallen asleep, Ami lay awake trying to swallow her selfish sorrow. There was something uncomfortable about being in Makoto and Nephrite's bed. She'd slept in the same bed as Makoto many times before, but all the sheets smelled like deep, dark earth now. Like Nephrite.

So, Ami left her friend a note on the end table, thanking her for the offer, and ambled back to her own rooms. She stood in the doorway, glaring at the empty bed for a moment before striding purposely across to the wardrobe. Ami tore into it with ferocity, throwing clothes and hangers onto the floor until she got to the piece she wanted: a huge, ragged, green robe. Burying her face in the soft fabric, she inhaled. Mint with the soft undertone of lemon, crisp and clean.

The robe enveloped her like a cocoon, reassuring and heavy on her shoulders. It piled on the floor, hiding her feet, and when she walked to the bed she had to be careful not to trip. Ami didn't even bother to shimmy under the covers, but instead rolled herself in the green mound of fabric, letting it embrace her with its warmth and scent.

That's how she dozed off: hidden deep in Zoicite's green robe and imagining he was there.


	22. White

**Author's Note**: It's been a while! My boyfriend just recently decided to start reading my drabbles, and that's when I realized how long it's been since I last updated. I hit a moment of writer's block, and it might be evident in these next few pieces, but I don't want to be too anal about it. I just need to get back into the habit.

**Thank you to**: IAmTheBattleMaiden, A'Wunderkind, Traser SyberJedi, micatite, justsukiya, Charlie Chaplin 2, asga , Hidden Firecracker _(I don't think you're nit-picky! When I re-read it, it struck me as odd that Minako wasn't more knowledgeable, too. Frankly, if I go back and edit of these, I'd rather her be more confused as to whether it's a hickey OR a bite mark, and less of just "What IS that!" Really, thank you for pointing that out :) And thanks for the well wishes on classes!)_, Lilian, Ocianne, NemesisMuse, Aly, blackaces924, and MistyWing for reviewing. I really appreciate it, and I hope you all like these next three drabbles!

**Theme: **#19 "White"  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Version:** AU/Crystal Tokyo**  
Rating: **PG

...  
**Snowcapped  
**...

"Oh! Is that a gray hair?" murmured Ami.

Zoicite felt time grind to a halt, as the words "gray" and "hair" somehow managed to make their way past Ami's lips. Grey hair? Grey hair? What? What gray hair? His hair was perfect! Ami must be going blind! Totally blind. It was a tragic thing, really, but there was no way that Zoicite could _ever_ have a gray hair.

A strangled whimper clogged up his throat, coming out as a series of wheezing noises. Visible tears were beginning to well in his eyes, and Zoicite tried to blink them back. Maybe it was an allergy? Ami was experiencing some strange allergic side effect that made her temporarily blind to color. It was all the time she spent around those old books. They were affecting her health. He'd have to ban her from the library to ultimately save her life.

But first he had to gather enough courage to leave Ami's lap and go look in a mirror.

Then, Ami laughed, her hand pausing for a second before continuing its way through his long, blond hair. "Oh, sorry. Actually, I think it was just flour from baking with Minako this afternoon. It came right off!"

"Oh, hah," Zoicite managed after a moment. "Not like one little gray hair would be a big deal or anything."


	23. Passing

**Theme:** #65 - Passing  
**Genre:** General/Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG

...  
**Passing the Ball  
**...

Zoicite shut the large, oak door with a satisfying snap, and tried to get his bearings about him. Never before had he seen so many angry politicians gathered in one place, but that was probably because he hadn't been an avid watcher of C-Span before being re-crowned.

To make it even more overwhelming, Ami had failed to show up, and she was the one with all the proper documentation for the Roman officials. Zoicite was proud of the fact he could keep a smile on his face, despite the worst of circumstances, but when those four, angry Italian men bore down on him, Zoicite had an almost overpowering urge to run from the room, screaming like a little girl.

Luckily, the wine pitchers had depleted fairly fast, and Zoicite grabbed the chance to slip out. He no longer cared how it must have looked, not sending a member of the staff to do such a menial task. He just wanted out of the writhing mass of large, yelling European men.

"Zoicite!" puffed Ami, rounding a corner, and stalking forward in a frantic, flailing manner. "Zoicite, I'm so sorry! I was-- Well, there's this project, and..."

"You got sidetracked?" asked Zoicite, perking up instantly.

As a conniving smirk slowly materialized on his face, Ami slowed down, and took a moment to really try to look at the situation she was stumbling into. "Yes, I'm sorry," she apologized. "My watch battery stopped. I had no idea... Is the meeting still going on?"

"You're just in time, actually!" said Zoicite. He pushed himself off the door. "Do you have all your documents?"

"Yes," said Ami warily. "Of course."

"Good." Zoicite opened the door with a flourish. It was like a flood had been released, spewing foreign obscenities and loud, guttural arguments into the hallway. Ami's mouth fell open a little bit. "They've been waiting."

Acting with appropriate sheepishness, Ami started hesitantly into the throes of battle, but paused when she realized Zoicite wasn't right behind her. She turned. Zoicite greeted her with a cheerful grin.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"Oh, no," answer Zoicite. "They're all yours. I figured I'd just get them all riled up, and then you can do the rest. I'm passing the ball."

"Zoicite, I said I was sorry!" hissed Ami, clutching her documents to her chest like a shield.

"Yeah, well, I hope you can say that in Italian," Zoicite replied, shutting the door on her stunned face.

Feeling slightly satisfied, he went to go get himself a sandwich, and then move all of his bedding into a guest room, as he was sure Ami would be doing later, anyway.


	24. Death

**Theme:** #30 "Death"  
**Genre:** Angst/Drama  
**Version:** Silver Millennium  
**Rating:** PG-13

...  
**Kiss of Death  
**...

Zoicite felt slightly unbalanced, swaying down the dim palace hallway. For once, he wasn't even drunk, but his body still couldn't shake the heavy, dull feeling his body had accumulated in all his limbs. It pushed against the front of his brain with agonizing persistence.

There was something about meeting, or even being in the presence of Beryl that disagreed with him, making his stomach sour. Maybe it was the excessive use of incense she insisted on in her chambers, or maybe it was the general discussion. Despite what the royal family wanted to think, that priestess was getting ahead of herself. Some of the prayers dribbling over those pretty, red lips of hers sounded alarmingly like treason.

But maybe he was just being pessimistic. Zoicite pinched the bridge of his nose, but the pain throbbing under his skull went on unabated.

Soon, he'd left the palace grounds, and stepped down into the large, elaborate maze built on the south side of the gardens. The shrubs rustled faintly in the gentle, fall breeze. It was quiet and deserted. No one used the labyrinth much, except during large parties and political affairs.

His boots crunched confidently down the well-worn paths, only stopping as they neared the center. The maze opened suddenly to his right, and Zoicite could hear her coming, despite the soft padding of her slippers and careful, quiet way she walked.

"There you are," said Mercury, a shy smile blossoming.

She looked more exotic that she ever had, her hair bound with tiny, white flowers, running alongside a jagged, shimmering halo that acted as a strange and disarming tiara. When she lifted her hand to awkwardly stroke back a stray strand of dark hair, the perfection of her skin seemed more intimidating in the afternoon sun, and her bone structure too tiny and unnatural. Alarmingly blue eyes narrowed curiously.

There was something wrong about Zoicite being captured in attraction. Normally, it was the other way around. He took a steadying breath, and moved to take her in his arms, like he had hundreds of times before. Her body was warm and the fabric of her dress sighed against him, as if relieved. When she looked up at him, nothing but devotion and love shone proudly. Zoicite stroked the soft side of her cheek fondly.

_Blood would look so beautiful against the soft flush of her face_.

Zoicite bit the inside of his mouth so hard it brought tears to his eyes, and his brain thudded against his skull like a drum until his ears started ringing. Faintly, he felt Mercury's cool hands on his face, and her wide, frightened eyes peering up at him with urgency.

"I'm fine," he managed, brushing off her fluttering fingers. "Just kiss me."

He kissed her as he always had, with abandonment, but something unknown and perilous seemed to trickle between them.


	25. She

**Note: **It's been quite a while, and it's time for a change. I have some new ideas I'm playing around with. Hopefully, they won't be too disjointed from the other pieces for people to grasp.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and been waiting patiently! I appreciate the support, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to contribute anything until now. Hope you enjoy the next three drabbles!

**Theme**: #85 - She  
**Genre**: Romance/General  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo/AU  
**Rating**: PG

**...  
Quiet Monday Mornings  
...**

She's methodical to the core. The teakettle gets refilled, the burner is turned on, and then she prepares the cups. Always two cups, one with sugar and one without. He watches her carefully measure teaspoons. She makes it look like brain surgery, discarding tiny, rejected flecks of sugar back into the bowl, as if one extra ounce will give him an early heart attack or onset of diabetes.

He lets her do it, though. He likes watching her method, because he is anything but exact and organized. He leaves his boxers hanging half out of the hamper, and washes dishes when there is only three plastic cups in the machine. Following her movements, timed and rhythmic, is refreshing. It's something that will probably never stop being a novelty.

He won't let it.

She fills the cups up to the brim with boiling water. Each one gets six stirs before they're deemed ready to be savored. That's the end of her routine. The next few moments are up to him.

That's part of his routine.

He smiles at her over the rim of his mug, face half in shadow. Everything about him is sharp angles and wild hair in the early morning light, filtering lazily through the thin, white curtains above the stove. She watches the white flash of his teeth disappear as he sips the steaming tea. She won't touch her own until it is cooler, and he doesn't think that's fair. It's like eating steak while everyone else is still waiting for their salads.

The table groans in protest as he leans forward and she leans back, trying to keep her tea from sloshing messily onto the dark wood as his palms slide in front of her, into her personal space. It's too early for words, but that doesn't mean she doesn't try. Her mouth open and closes, questioning silently until he has to manually interrupt her, his bottom teeth grazing her upper lip.

He tastes like Sweet 'n Low and bitter Earl Grey, and maybe just a hint of last night's cigar that he got from a party she had told him not to go to. He had, of course, but she decides she doesn't really care all that much when his tongue is running over the roof of her mouth.

Slowly, he pulls back, until all that's left is a faint, sugary aftertaste and a shy stare under downcast lashes.


	26. He

**Theme**: #84 - He  
**Genre**: General/Drama  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo/AU  
**Rating**: PG

**...  
Beautiful Broken  
...**

He knows she only visits when she needs a distraction (and she _always_ needs a distraction). He doesn't like to consider that she visits because it's one of the last places he'd go, shunning the sterile tile and smell of disinfectant like a vampire shuns the sun.

The orderly halls, bags of fluid, and miles and miles of chart work had once been part of his world, but he had decided a long time ago that he didn't belong there. Unless _she_ was there, of course, acting as a temporary lifetime pass. A lifetime pass to disease, drugs, and the perpetually broken. _Damaged_. She surrounded herself with death and destruction, but not because she enjoyed it.

She wanted to fix it.

A Rubik's complex. A messiah complex. She had to solve the problem; she had to help. As if giving up her hopes and dreams to the world wasn't enough. Maybe he was more selfish than she was. He couldn't understand the drive, the need that brought her back to the clean, white world of Tokyo's medical district when she was already running on fumes to begin with.

So, he just tried to fuel her. She gave him a small smile as her fingers curled around the cup of coffee he'd brought her, and she let him sit next to her on the cold, hard bench outside the nurse's station. He tried not to focus on all the pictures of monkeys and strange, fanciful animals that smeared the walls of the children's wing, and instead stared at her knuckles. They were white, tensed around the cardboard cup protector.

"We're ridiculously short staffed," she explained unnecessarily. There was a brief pause as she sipped her coffee, and then, "Why don't you ever volunteer?"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and studying how red his hands looked in the harsh lighting. And then he glanced back at her, and she was staring back at him with those blue eyes of hers, innocent and critical all at the same time. He wetted his lips and turned away.

"I wasn't a very good doctor," he answered. There was something dark and gritty under his thumbnail. He picked at it without success.

"I don't believe that," she said.

He almost chuckled at her confidence, her faith in the unproven abilities of others. Or maybe it was just in his abilities. He let the thought slide around inside his head for a while.

"You have to have something special to be a good doctor, a great doctor," he elaborated. She was staring at him over her coffee cup again. He watched the toe of her beige pumps tap nervously against the air. "Knowledge, drive, practical application. They're all important. But they don't make you any better or worse than anyone else. Well, unless you don't _have _knowledge, drive, or practical application." He smiled over his shoulder at her. "I mean, they don't give you an idea of what it's like to be lying alone, somewhere unfamiliar that smells like the inside of a bleach bottle, and not have a damn clue if you're going to be walking out of there in the future. Great doctors are..." The monkey on the far side of the wall was grinning at him, probably already knowing what a mistake the next few words were going to be. "Great doctors are as damaged as the people they treat. I wasn't damaged enough to make a difference."

Silence. Her lips were still pressed around the rim of her cup, but she wasn't drinking. She wasn't looking at anything in particular. She was just thinking.

"So, you think I'm damaged?" she asked at length, her voice soft and neutral.

He let the weight of his answer roll around in his mouth before he finally answered, "Yes."

When he glanced up at her, she didn't seem offended or angry. Her gaze was cool. Her foot had stopped fidgeting. It was his turn to squirm.

"And you don't think you're damaged?" she asked.

"No." He glanced away, back into the acrylic jungle across the hall.

Her hand was warm and small, pressing through his shirt, against his skin. She smelled of flowers, the first hint of spring, mixed with something heavy and medicated. He resisted looking at her, seeing the white coat over the soft, white sweater she'd worn to dinner. He wanted to strip the hospital off of her, leave her naked and broken.

She was his Rubik's complex. He wanted (_needed_) to fix her. He was obligated.

"You're damaged, Zoicite," she said, ignoring the way he flinched from her. "That _is _something I firmly believe."

And then she was gone. Her touch was gone; the warm space she had occupied was undeniably empty. Zoicite was left alone, in a hallway that smelled like the inside of a bottle of bleach.

The monkeys were laughing at him.


	27. Writer's Choice Alt Ami

**Theme: **#97 - Writer's Choice // Alternate Ami  
**Genre**: General  
**Version**: AU  
**Rating**: PG

**...  
One I'll Always Know  
...**

It's raining outside, lightening making spider webs across an ink black sky. He's all nervous energy, complete with tapping fingers and an infuriatingly exuberant sense of self-importance that's been exacerbated by the four large, stern men following in his wake, riding his wave.

She should have expected the grand entrance, the squealing, and the curious glances from coworkers. They just didn't get it, didn't see what made her so special, what made him seek her out. They didn't see the princess underneath her lilac scrubs, mussed hair, and the thin, white knuckles that clutched the head of a cane like a lifeline. They saw someone small, someone brainy.

Someone _crippled_.

And for a moment, as his sharp eyes flicked from one minute detail to the next, before landing squarely on the only thing that was keeping her firmly standing at that moment, she thought maybe that's all he saw, too.

"Are you dying?" she asked, tone terse. She'd missed his opening monologue. There was something about politics and Endymion, all things she really didn't care to think about. She'd just been staring at his lips, becoming irate at how perfect and pink they were. How exactly the same they were from how they had been.

His mouth was open, tongue rolling over the tips of his teeth, tasting his reply carefully.

"Don't you know who I am?" he asked.

"Oh, I know who you are, Lord Zoicite," she assured. He smiled, lips stretched tightly over all of his straight, pearly white teeth. He was presumptuous, and she was angry. "I know who you are," she continued. "And I don't care. If you're not deathly ill or bleeding excessively from an open wound, then you can wait in the lobby, like anyone else would, until my shift is over. This is still a hospital and work needs to be done, no matter what type of egotistical bigwig walks in the door."

For a moment, she thought he might actually yell. His high cheekbones flushed, and the self-satisfied grin disappeared off his face. But slowly, it built itself back up into something more slow and easy.

"I prefer 'vainglorious muck-a-muck,' personally," he said. His voice rumbled with amusement. "How about you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Enfeebled?" he asked, gesturing to the polished cane pressing heavily into the floor. "Handicapped? Gimpy? You seem to enjoy name-calling. I'd just like to get it right."

"'Crippled' is fine," she spat, turning on her good heel. The cane barely missed coming down on the cheerful shine of Zoicite's expensive shoes.

"Did I offend you?" he asked innocently, following her a short distance.

"No," she said. "Wait in the lobby."

"When will you be done?"

She regarded him coolly. "Get comfortable."

Resisting the urge to turn around, get a good look at the calculating, slightly bemused expression leaking onto Zoicite's face, the former Sailor Mercury limped away as fast as she could manage. The hallway cleared in front of her, a Red Sea of nurses and idling patients, all craning their necks to make out the tall, dignified figure of Europe's reinstated regent.

"Are you leaving?" asked one of the nurses, catching the young, hobbling doctor as she fiddled with a few available charts.

"Nope," she answered. "Swapped with another resident. I'm taking another few hours. I'll be lucky if I'm out of here before dawn."

The nurse cocked an eyebrow. She'd never seen someone bound for the graveyard shift smile so enthusiastically before.


	28. How

**Theme:** #81 - How?  
**Genre:** Drama/Angst  
**Version:** AU  
**Rating:** R (for NAKEDNESS)

**...  
Narrow Lines  
...**

"How did it happen?"

Her eyes are dark and half lidded. He runs a thumb along her lashes, tracing down the soft skin of her cheek and lets his fingertips circle her neck, feeling how delicate she is. Her pulse rushes under his palm, steadily _thump thump thumping_ a warm flush to her face.

"What?" she asks.

He doesn't bother to repeat himself, and instead continues to follow the curve of her shoulder, touching the raised scar that runs from her shoulder blade down to her side. There's a larger, angrier mark on her hip, and he take the opportunity to cup her ass as he presses against the marred skin with his thumb. She stops him just as his wandering fingers make their way down to her left leg by taking his arm and tucking it against her unblemished breasts.

She lets out a wobbly sigh.

"How did it happen?" he prompts again. Her eyes are suddenly bright, large and glassy, in the dark. He watches her blink once, _twice_, and then she's hiding her soul behind a thick wall of kohl lashes and weary eyelids.

"Please..." She means it to come out breathy and sarcastic, but only succeeds with the breathy part of the equation. A part of her wants to get up and leave the room, shrug on her dress and jam her feet into those sensible flats she's always wearing, and storm from the building in an impressive, driven fury. But it won't happen. They've always been such a car crash. Every time he opens his mouth, locks onto her with those inescapable eyes, smiles that aggravating, goading smile of his, it's a head on collision. They just have to ride it out until the metal stops twisting and the smell of burnt rubber clears the air.

She completely ignores the fact she'd have to wait for the elevator in her righteous indignation, even if she did make it out of the room.

"Why do you want to know?" she asks.

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I just want to know. I want to know everything."

Eyes still closed, she doesn't have to look at him to measure the sincerity of his statement. He's always been this way, gossiping like an old woman, his nose stuck where it doesn't belong. His consistency, the familiarity, is mildly comforting.

"It was nothing spectacular," she lies, her voice soft and even from practice. It's her hands that give her away, flexing nervously around his forearm, leaving red imprints against his pale skin. "My car jumped a guard rail, and my seat belt snapped. I'm lucky to be alive."

He's silent for a while. Her body is tense, pulled tight like a bowstring, and he has to work to regain his arm from her grip. Slowly, he watches her eyes open, first one and then the other, until he's staring into a dark, unreadable abyss.

"And this? Is this from the crash?" He has his palm on her leg before she can react, cupping the damaged skin, feeling the complicated, angry scar that snakes along her thigh all the way to her knee.

She almost yelps, but not from pain. Suddenly, she seems glaringly shy, dark hair curtaining her face as she squirms under his touch. It's unfamiliar to have someone else's skin, unprofessional and insistent (a purposeful stroke), against her thigh. It makes her shudder.

"No," she manages after a moment. Coldly, she removes him from her space, digging a hole in the mattress that's just for her. He can't come in. "It's not."

He swallows loudly, fingers still reaching for her soft skin. "You're beautiful," he says.

Turning her back to him so she doesn't have to face his honesty, she draws the edge of the sheets up to her chin and releases a slow, soft sigh.

"That's what I used to tell myself," she says.


	29. Water

**Theme**: smmonthly - Theme Three - Image ; #51 - Water  
**Genre**: Romance/General  
**Version**: Silver Millennium  
**Rating**: PG

**...  
The Unintentional Siren  
...**

"Aren't you cold?" Zoicite had wrapped his heaviest cloak tightly around his shoulders, trying desperately to ward off the northern cold. Winter seemed to come earlier every year, the temperature more and more frigid.

And then there was Mercury, standing against the ship railing, barely protected by a thin, wool cover and a simple cotton dress. Her cheeks were red with cold, standing out starkly against her pale skin. She didn't seem to be bothered by the briskness, though. Her eyes were closed, her face thrust into the salty breeze.

"I'm always cold," Mercury answered at length, her tone matter-of-fact.

She was right (as always). Her skin was always just a little on the abnormal side, chilly against his warm, rough hands. Sometimes he thought she had ice in her veins instead of blood.

Slowly, Zoicite wrapped his cloak around them both, pressing her cold, small body against the hot expanse of his chest, and captured her tiny hands in his own. He encompassed her fingers like gloves, briefly wondering if he wasn't just holding ice cubes.

"What are you doing up here?" he murmured into her neck, pulling her hood back to breath warm air down her chilly shoulder. "You'll catch your death."

Mercury just laughed lightly. "I wanted to listen to the music."

Grunting, Zoicite glanced up and scanned the steadily looming shoreline. Their ship was coming around to port through the cliffs, and large, ominous rock beds rose out of the water, black under the overcast sky and the splashing sea water. However inhospitable the ocean seemed on that day, though, a dozen or so regional sirens still sat precariously on the rock ledge, howling into the wind at the top of their voices. Zoicite frowned and glanced back at the crew. He hadn't even noticed the cotton stuffed deep into their ears when he came up from the cabin.

"I thought we might see some this far north, but I was hoping we'd bypass this particular area," he sighed. "Damn weather."

Mercury glanced up at him, her blue eyes filled with wonder and awe. "You don't think they're amazing?"

"I think they're rather ugly," smiled Zoicite, gazing out again into the waves.

These were not warm water mermaids. Northern sirens had rather long, poorly formed faces and lank, limp hair. Their scales looked slimy and dull. They weren't anything to really gawk at, unless you were unfortunate enough to find yourself under their spell. Without their magic, they were like large, ugly fish with bagpipes for lungs. Zoicite winced at their persistence.

"Well, I think they're amazing," said Mercury decisively.

"What ever for? Don't you have them on Mercury? Aren't you largely a water people?"

Mercury smiled up at him, her expression gentle and patient. "You've been reading too many fairytales," she said. "My planet does have water, but it's contained in shallow, large plains. Flowing water is only found in fountains and plumbing." Her eyes went back out to the sirens singing on the rock. "Our water is tied up in our ceremonies. Without our magic, there would be no water on Mercury. This is why I love your oceans. They're wild. Natural. Untouched." She smiled, but it seemed painful. "There isn't much about life outside of Earth that is natural."

Thoughtfully, Zoicite squeezed her hands, and was secretly pleased to find them lukewarm to his touch. "I would love to see your planet."

Mercury just hummed her acknowledgement. They were quiet for a moment, feeling the rocking of the ocean and listening to the cries of the crew as they wildly gestured to one another to prepare the ship for its last few miles into land.

"They can't hear each other," said Mercury suddenly.

"What?"

"The crew. They can't hear each other. They plugged their ears hours ago, before we saw land." She glanced up at Zoicite, bemusement written across her face. "Aren't sirens supposed to be deadly to men? I've read your lore. They drive men crazy with their song. Why aren't you affected?"

Zoicite seemed only mildly concerned, his shoulders shrugging. "Perhaps my magic makes me immune," he mused.

"That could be true." Mercury appeared distracted and skeptical. Her mind was already whirring with questions.

Smiling Zoicite pulled her closer. "Or maybe," he said, his voice low and husky. "Maybe I'm all ready captured in a siren's spell and walking to my doom."

Mercury blushed. "Oh, don't say that. How morbid."

"I thought it was romantic," Zoicite grinned.

Laughing, they surrendered their spot, and walked hand in hand towards the comfort of the cabins down below. The men above, riding the waves, were left to the siren's song.


	30. Lovers

**Theme:** smmonthly - Theme Two - Competitive; #23 - Lovers  
**Genre:** Romance/Humor  
**Version:** Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG-13

**...  
Just A Simple Game Of Chicken (Or Zoicite's Guide To Not Falling Asleep During Boring Dinner Parties)  
...**

She found him next to the bar as he was cheerfully getting his empty glass filled with what suspiciously looked like hard liquor. The rosy, pale wine in her own glass swirled lazily as she moved her fingers, rolling the stem of the wineglass slowly in a circle.

"So?" He didn't even bother to turn around. The bar tendered seemed reluctant to pour the last few drops of a dark, amber liquid into his already fairly full tumbler. "Have I won yet?"

She pursed her lips, trying very hard to not to pout in public. "You quoted _The Prince_." Her tone was almost petulant, though soft. It was obviously for his ears only.

"You know," he began, turning to face her. He looked delighted with his triumph, and he took a sip from his drink just to prolong the experience. "You have to be the only woman I know that gets aroused by political theories and the ramblings of dead, white guys."

Her eyes averted stubbornly. "You don't fight fair."

There was a light touch under her jaw, his fingers barely caressing the soft skin. It was the most he could do in the crowded room full of stuffy political officials, but it was enough to get her to look at him. Their eyes locked. He smiled as a faint blush began to run down her face towards her neck. She covered the front of her gown with the gauzy, blue wrap she was carrying as the flush descended scandalously farther down her pale skin.

"Well, my Mercury," he said, voice low and husky. He bent in, as if he were simply trying to talk over the strong band playing enthusiastically in the corner. The darkness of his eyes, a muddled, deep green, conveyed a very different story. "The way you were eating those strawberries at dinner was a little past the propriety line, too, don't you think?"

She could barely contain her smug smile. "You saw that?"

"You know I saw that."

"It was very fair, though. You didn't _have_ to play Chopin after desserts, Zoicite. That was just cruel."

"Would you have preferred an Irish jig?"

She made a face, somewhere between intrigued and reluctant. "That would have been worse." Watching as his face brightened, the information being sorted away for future use, she sighed. "Oh shoot. I shouldn't have told you that."

"If it helps," he prompted, his head tilting subtly. "You would have won if you had continued to speak with the French Ambassador. Your pronunciation and control of the language is extremely... impressive."

Something in his tone suggested that "impressive" wasn't exactly the word he had been planning to use. Mercury smiled.

"So, is the game still on?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Zoicite scoffed, before draining his glass and taking her small, chilled hand in his large, warm one. "I won. I want my prize."

Mercury allowed her lips to fall into a little frown as he led her through the throngs of foreign politicians and members of the Crystal Tokyo court. They smiled and greeted the two as they passed, oblivious to the couple's private game. Except possibly for Venus, who had winked brazenly at Mercury as she brushed by the blonde.

"I hate it when we play sexual chicken," Mercury said finally, as they passed the end of the food bar. "You always win."

"If it makes you feel any better," Zoicite offered. "You lasted longer than you normally do. I actually had to _work_." He seemed a little perturbed under his good humor, like a child being denied his favorite plaything. "But I'll fully consider letting you win next time." As suddenly as it had appeared, the faint pout was gone, and his smile was roguish as he grabbed a nearly overflowing bowl of strawberries off the buffet in his free hand. "But tonight is mine. We're leaving two hours earlier than we should be, and I fully hope you're prepared to uphold your end of the bargain."

Mercury eyed the fruit suspiciously. "It won't exactly be hard. But what are the strawberries for?"

Zoicite pulled her somewhat forcefully into the hallway. The noise of the party inside was cut short as the door slammed shut behind them. In the dim, corridor lighting, his face was in sharp contrast, his eyes dark and unreadable until he bent closer to run his lips across her jaw line.

"While I'd appreciate if you kept your erotic strawberry eating out of the public eye," he whispered into her ear. "It's perfectly acceptable to just give _me_ a private show."

She tried not to shiver at the intensity of his voice. "I'll see what I can do." When he pulled back, delighted and smug as he led her down the hallway, she raised an eyebrow. "You really liked that, then?"

"Very much," he answered appraisingly.

Her shy smile turned into a grin. "Oh, really?"

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightened. "Damn it," he muttered. The wheels were already turning in her head. He could almost hear them clink into place.

The next foreign gathering was going to be interesting. That was assured.


	31. Enemies

**Notes**: Thank you to everyone who left a review and is still following these drabbles! I greatly appreciate it, and you all are very kind.

**Theme**: Theme Four – Experiment smmonthly; #22 - Enemies  
**Genre:** Horror/Angst  
**Version**: Silver Millennium  
**Rating**: R (for, er, blood)

**...  
The Great, Failed Experiment  
...**

His hand was in her hair, a firm grip hard enough to yank her scalp from her head and bend her neck. He could snap it if he wanted, her little bird neck, but he didn't. Fingers wound tightly, he let Mercury drag like dead weight behind him, her legs flailing and trailing a thin sheet of blood. He couldn't help it. He sang as he went. He liked it better when they struggled.

Her head hit the back wall of the ballroom with a resounding _crack_ , and she writhed in pain, body convulsing as it tried to regain order. When her eyes opened, piercingly blue behind a veil of brilliant blood, they tried desperately to focus, to look him in the face. He gave her the time she needed. This was not an experience that one could rush. He was going to savor every moment of it.

She coughed, trying to wipe the blood from her mouth. It was tangy and wet, sliding between her teeth unpleasantly. It made her feel nauseous. Or maybe that was a product of Zoicite's expression as he stared down on her helpless form, his angel's face twisted in manic delight. As he moved to her side, his green eyes flickered brightly in the ballroom lighting, widened unnaturally with wonder, a bit like a little boy about to curiously pull the wings off a butterfly.

She tried to say his name, but it came out as a low, guttural moan in the back of her throat. He smiled, casual despite the flecks of red splashed across his pale skin. _War paint_.

"You should have run when I told you to." There wasn't an ounce of regret, just exhilaration, making his voice low and rough. He knew she wouldn't have left her princess. He knew he would find her. He knew exactly what he would say and do. Zoicite had always been self-confident, and now he was crazed, eyes wild with blood lust.

She wanted to say something, _anything_, but her mind was eerily blank. The hysterical screams and chaos in the background meant nothing. There was only a sick, burning sense of failure, and the cold dread of death. She was unflinching and numb when he knelt and touched her, the long, gloved fingers running down her dirty cheek, smudging across the line of her jaw. His gloves came up red, her blood mingled with carnage.

And he brought it to his mouth like it was the most delectable thing he'd seen in months, the perfect pink of his tongue rolling over the wet fabric with childlike ecstasy. He watched her face, eyes locked for an eternity. It amused him that her gaze seemed shallow, unfeeling. Two clear pools of stagnant water. Slowly, he bent forward until their noses brushed and his eyelashes could kiss her forehead.

"I always said you were sweet," he whispered, her blood still lightly speckled on his lips. The glee in his voice was thick and throaty. His fingers flexed harder around the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, like a mannequin coming to life, she was gripping the sides of his face. He tried to jerk back, but her fingers hung on like hooks, pulling until he was falling into her blue abyss, whirl pooling and awake compared to just moments before. There was no malice on her face, though her touch was painfully strong, painfully cold. She was insistent, demanding his full attention.

And she got it for just a second, his expression melting, softening. He did not fight her.

"_You are breaking my heart_," she whispered, savoring the moment, her words slow and deliberate.

He couldn't wait any longer, staring into those blue eyes. He killed her quickly, the taste of victory suddenly bitter in his mouth and tinged with the taste of rust. Desperately, Zoicite tried to remind himself what Beryl had said only hours earlier:

It had all been just a great experiment, the alliance between the Earth and Moon. Nothing but a great, revolutionary experiment.

And above all, in order to succeed, they must never forget: _It had failed_.


	32. Life

**Theme**: Theme Ten – Watercolour smmonthly; #87 - Life.  
**Genre**: Angst/Romance  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo/AU  
**Rating**: PG-13

**...  
The Painter's Brush  
...**

It was a goodbye that she'd seen a hundred times before she was six, before her mother no longer had anyone to say goodbye to. It was almost comforting in its familiarity, but a part of her heart beat an unsteady cadence at the first signs of the ingrained rhythm, the ritual. Goodbye was still goodbye, and her father had taken it literally one day. He hadn't come back.

But her mother, if she had known his plans, had never shown it. Her face was always raised to meet his, her hands tracing the soft contours of his expression; trying to rub out the remnant of the paints he used everyday. There probably wasn't a moment he was ever fully clean, ever fully devoid of color, but her mother still tried, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks, smoothing the wrinkles and sun spots, trying to scratch out a bit of sunflower yellow that had gotten past yesterday's inspection. Then, she'd move to his clothes, smoothing them out and making little noises at the state of his paint splattered shirt. It looked grisly, like a big paint monster had been gored and had bled all over him.

He humored her. Or maybe he was just ignoring her. Ami had been too young to judge. In her world, her parents experienced nothing but love and adoration for each other. When her father leaned down to kiss her mother, his mouth crushing and insistent on hers, it was because he was reminding her he loved her enough that he would be home for dinner.

Not because he might never kiss her again.

And there she was, no longer really Mizuno Ami, but Sailor Mercury, her hands still tracing the same path as her mother's had, smoothing the bloody lapel of someone else's jacket. The man she tentatively admitted she loved. He was humoring her. She could see it in his eyes, the way his smile was crooked and soft. A little bit of a red smear still lingered along the expanse of his cheekbone, starkly colorful against his pale skin. She tried to rub it off with her thumb, but he waved her away. It wouldn't be coming out. At least not today.

When he kissed her it was hard and demanding. It didn't leave room for embarrassment that the corridor was crowded, or questions if there were other places they should be at exactly that moment. He was good at that, wiping out all the extras and only leaving only his perfect image seared in the back of her eyelids. He kissed her like it might be the last kiss he would ever get to have. He drank her in with eager, crushing desperation, until just the action of pulling away seemed agonizingly painful and cruel. A part of her wondered if her father's kiss had been much the same for her mother.

She let him walk away, though, just as her mother had always held open the apartment door for her father, wishing him a good day. She had never seen it before, the painful bond between mother and daughter that had seemed only as deep as a scalpel could cut. She'd hated to see it that way: a convenience, a necessity for rebirth. But she had felt it was true for years, until that little, tiny connection came ripping to the surface, no longer able to stay dormant.

It was useless to tell herself that he was nothing like her father. Of course, physically, it would have been comical for them to have been in the same room: one man modestly dressed, small and dark skinned, covered in the colorful paint smears of his labor, and the other tall and stately, a Grecian god carved from marble, a fallen angel with blood on his hands and dotting his uniform.

But they really weren't so different.

Like her father had gone out to paint the world as he saw it, color splashes on a blank canvas and soft, supple lines drawn by masterful strokes of his brush, Zoicite dipped his sword in tinted water and ran it over the land, molding it as he saw fit. Instead of indigo, marine blue, and sunbursts of orange, he came home smudged brick brown and cherry red. He came home painted with what he had created through destruction and necessity. He came home weary and discouraged, sometimes angry and rude.

_But he came home_.

That was where her nostalgia died. That was where she felt envy for her mother for something other than her career, her talent. Despite everything her father had done to their small family, despite the disappointment and the hurt, it had been simple for him. He had simply gotten up, and he had walked out the door. He sent postcards and reminders. There was little that threatened him outside of the family bubble. There was just him, the world, and his paints.

There would be no postcards from Zoicite if he did not return. There would be no regrets, written between the fins of pretty, painted fish. There would just be the unavoidable, crushing sound of _nothing_.

And that was her greatest fear, why she gave him her mother's loaded farewell every time he was poised to walk out the door. Because maybe, when her mother closed her eyes, she saw a world without her husband, a single parent struggling to raise a daughter, and the word "divorce" hanging over her head like the black, noxious stink of death.

When Mercury closed her eyes, she saw Zoicite on the ground. She saw him falling. And she saw the splash of red that was no longer his medium, but a sickeningly obvious part of him, spilling onto the earth and mingling with tinted water until he wasn't Zoicite anymore, just another part of the painting.

Selfishly, deep in the back of her mind, she always prayed that he would be the painter of every battle. Never the other way around.


	33. Who

**Theme**: Theme Eleven – Remember smmonthly; #76 - Who?  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating**: R (arrrr, matey)

**...  
Remember the Truth  
...**

They shouldn't be doing this. At least, that's what she keeps telling him, her mouth muffled by his skin. Her lips can't seem to stop finding it, tentatively brushing and nipping. It's alien and foreign, but yet _oh so_ familiar at the same confusing time. Who cares if her first kiss was demure and chaste, stolen outside the door of her apartment from someone who was just as quiet and cautious as she was? It means nothing now. This is a memory. Everything fits into the puzzle with precise precision, a mind numbing perfection that can only be found in her world of science and math.

One plus one will always equal two.

He yanks her shirt over her head with animalistic need, and for a moment she's certain she's going to snap back into herself. Scattered documents crunch under their weight. Months of hard work is getting ruined by years of waiting, unanswered questions. She should be concerned. She should be the responsible one. But his hands are hot on her back, running over the exposed skin with reverence, like a thirsty man suddenly finding water. It's comfortable, and something locked away, sunken deep down under Mizuno Ami, the girl genius, is overriding common sense and drinking from his mouth in a way she was certain she'd never been taught.

His skin is so feverishly warm under her fingers, under her mouth, that she's almost sure he's burning her. When his hand runs up her thigh, she imagines that it leaves a searing scar in its pleasurable wake. His lips are trailing little half-moons of red bliss from her neck down to the swell of her breasts, the straight line of his nose brushing a clear road to sin. It's almost painful, his need. His want. _Their want_. He's pressing her so tightly to his mouth, his body, that she idly wonders if he's trying to brand her, mark her for another lifetime.

She'll let him tonight. And then maybe tomorrow, when she reevaluates what his bite marks look like on her pale flesh, she'll remember who she is.

Not who he remembers her as.


	34. Birthday

**Notes**: Thank you to those who reviewed. I greatly appreciate it. I'm glad people are still following this set! I know I tend to leave it sitting for much too long.

**Theme**: Theme Fourteen - Birthday at smmonthly; #91 Birthday (_how convenient_)  
**Genre**: Humor  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo/AU  
**Rating**: PG-13

**...  
And Now For An Interpretive Dance  
...**

_My Amalthea,_

_Today, your mother handed me a pen and told me to write something reflective for your very first birthday. I asked her what the point was, considering you're more likely to just attempt to gum the card into submission, but she used her "suggestion" voice (easily confused with her "angry" voice or "demanding" voice) and impressed upon me the importance of relishing your early days, because in the future you will be a little demon, bent on making our lives a veritable hell while we attempt to guide you through life's confusing obstacles._

_Those were her words. Not mine._

_You'll have to forgive your mother. She's not as laid back and just as generally hip to a young person's jive as I am. Someday, you might hear me say "no" to you. I may or may not lock you in your room when you come to an age where you realize that boys do not have cooties, and are, in fact, quite nice to look at. I just want you to remember one thing while you're off sulking about it:_

_ALL YOUR MOTHER._

_Please don't misunderstand me, though. I love your mother. It is her anal retentive behavior and firm, moral compass that first endeared her to me, as I am lacking in most of the ethical/work-related areas where she is not. You'll learn that's important: finding someone who can support and understand your shortcomings. But that's definitely a lesson for another day, and one I definitely won't be leaving to your mother. She'll want to shove some practical hoo-ha down your throat, something about responsibility and lust not being love, blah blah blah -- No, Zoicite, you're just be silly. What's the point of marriage? It's just a man made institution that is no longer relevant to our lifestyle... No, Zoicite, I won't let you do an interpretive dance as part of your vows... ANYWAY---_

_It should be said that you won't be getting within a ten foot radius of a boy until you're nearly one hundred, anyway, but I sincerely hope you learn what love is without actually listening to your mother, because when she isn't over thinking, she is the most loving, insightful woman that I have ever met. There isn't a day that goes by I don't feel thankful for her presence in my life... Guiding me, encouraging me... Forcing me to write letters to babies that are constantly spitting up in my hair._

_When you're older, I expect a letter back with some heavy expression of appreciation. And an apology for the three bottles of shampoo I've had to buy in just one month. Just thought I'd mention that._

_I've gotten off track, haven't I? I won't be letting your mother read this. She'll make me do it again._

_So, Amalthea, on your birthday... What is some wisdom I can impart to you -- father to daughter?_

_When I truly think about it, I'm not sure I'm really the best source of sound advice. Even to a one-year-old. There are things I've done that I deeply, deeply regret. There are things I hope to shield you from in the future. If anything, I've learned more from you in the short time you've been with us, than I've probably learned from anyone throughout my lifetimes. I can't even imagine what you could possibly pick up from me..._

_Other than, you know, my dashing good looks, a rather obnoxious sense of humor (feel free to use that on Kunzite anytime you feel like it), and a strong pull towards adventure, of course._

_Everything else, I hope you learn from your mother. I hope you accept her intelligence, her shrewdness. She has more determination and drive in her little toe than I probably have in my whole body. Her steadiness and her kindness are both things I hope you have been blessed with. And if you happened to bypass those genes, if you learn anything from me, I hope you learn to listen to your mother. She is a constant stream of sensible judgment, and though she might seem silly sometimes (I'll laugh about it with you, but if you squeal on me, you're on your own), you can always lean on her words. You can always lean on her._

_There's my advice to my daughter on her birthday: Never date, save your money to compensate your father's grooming needs, and above all... ALWAYS LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER._

_And now, an interpretive dance of your birth (To be preformed at a later date. Don't worry. I'll remember)..._

_Happy birthday,  
Your loving father_

* * *

"Must you be so nosey?" Zoicite asked, his sealed card held high above his head, well out of the way of Mercury's nimble fingers. Held tightly under his other arm, Amalthea watched her parents with wide, curious eyes.

"Come on," huffed Mercury. Her tone came out a bit whiney, despite her best efforts. "I'd just like to know what you wrote!"

"This is between Thea and me." He brought the card tantalizingly close to her outstretched hands, only to jerk it away at the last minute. Mercury pointedly stopped jumping for it, noticing his eyes were no longer on her face, but latched fondly to her cleavage.

"Zoicite, I just want to make sure you're not going to traumatize her later in--" She still didn't have his attention. "Will you stop that? You're so juvenile sometimes. It's not like you haven't seen breasts before!"

"If I didn't enjoy them, you'd be complaining then, too. It's never a win-win situation." When Mercury scowled at him, he finally stopped leering, sighed, and handed over his letter. "Fine, but you're going to be heartily disappointed. All I did was describe, in detail, the exact events of her rather exciting entrance into this world."

"You did not," Mercury muttered, finally snatching the envelope out of his hand. "You were cringing through half of it. I don't even think you had your eyes open."

Zoicite frowned. "Yeah, well, my fingers remember pretty well."

Ignoring him, Mercury attempted to slip her nails under the lip of the envelope. When it wouldn't budge, she started poking around until it became increasingly obvious that the card just wasn't going to be that easy to snoop through.

"You _super glued_ it shut?" she asked, staring at Zoicite incredulously.

"I knew you'd want to see it," he answered.

Amalthea bounced lightly in his arms, making tiny, excited noises. The look on her mother's face was one of the funniest she'd seen all day.


	35. Sight

**Theme**: Theme Fifteen - Virgo at smmonthly; #40 Sight  
**Genre**: Humor  
**Version**: AU  
**Rating:** PG-13/R-ish

**...  
When I Think About You I Embarrass Myself  
...**

Minako sighed as she dumped her bowl full of cucumber slices into a larger container to marinate. The smell of vinegar made her nose wrinkle, and she relished going back to the cutting block where Ami was providing her with clean cucumbers to prepare. She picked one up, carefully beginning to peel its green skin away.

"You know," she said after a moment, a little smirk twisting her full lips. "Cucumbers remind me of something."

From his stool dragged up against the kitchen island, Zoicite dropped his newspaper down a bit, out of the sharp evening light filtering in through the beach house windows. One sharp eyebrow rose curiously, and the beginnings of a wolfish grin touched his expression. Minako winked at him and threw a glance over her shoulder to Ami, where the smaller woman was scrubbing at a basket of cucumbers by the sink.

"Can you guess?" asked Minako. She waved an almost completely peeled cucumber at Ami, who flushed a little and made a disapproving face.

"Minako, _really_," she sighed, resting her wet hands on her hips.

"What?" Minako asked innocently. She turned back to her work, though, and gave Zoicite a large smile. "You can't say it doesn't make you think. All the rubbing..."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Ami replied. "We're making a dish for dinner. Not a porno."

"Oh, Ami-chan, you can be such a prude sometimes." Minako began cutting the cucumber up into even, thick slices. "You should have a little fun. Lighten up. Make a few dirty jokes... You know, enjoy your sexuality."

When Minako looked up for a second, Zoicite winked back at her.

"She has a point, Ami," he said, leaning around Minako's shoulder to give Ami a roguish wink of her own.

He froze, meeting Ami's intense gaze. She wasn't angry. Oh no. Far from it. Leaning casually against the countertop, she had a freshly cleaned cucumber in her hand and a devilish smirk on her face. She lowered her head, staring at him through her eyelashes, and ever so slowly her delicate hands began to stroke the vegetable in a very familiar, intimate way. Zoicite shifted in his seat, vaguely aware that he was pulling air into his lungs in a greedy, obvious manner. Minako was saying something, but it was all garbled mishmash. His eyes were full of Ami and that cucumber.

She smiled sweetly then, her expression softening. She stopped her ministrations, and instead brought the cucumber up to her mouth, letting to bounce against the pout of her lips. Then, with her eyes still connected meaningfully with Zoicite's, she opened her mouth. He leaned forward. That perfect, pink tongue he knew so well darted past her lips and flicked the top of the cucumber. She let it swipe around the side. When she started pushing it past her rosy lips, Zoicite's jaw unhinged with an audible pop.

"...Am I right?" Minako finished. She looked up, and finally realized her audience wasn't paying attention to her. She scowled. "Zoicite!"

Pupils dilated and breathing ragged, the glance he shot at Minako did little to mask the pure, unbridled lust that was completely taking over his body. In the background, a door slammed. Zoicite startled, and Minako's question sputtered out before it even got past her teeth.

"Hey! We're hungry, and Makoto about bought the whole cow! Can we start grilling now?"

Nephrite's booming voice seemed to bring Zoicite back to a more self conscious state of mind. Wildly, he gathered up his newspaper and shoved it down onto his lap. Then, paper crackling as he held it in place like a makeshift skirt, he hightailed it out of the kitchen, nearly running over Jadeite in his frantic escape. He might have shot Ami a dirty look, somewhere between longing and aggravation, but it was hard to tell as he lunged for the staircase.

"Where're you going?" Jadeite hollered after him. He'd pressed himself flat against the refrigerator, and appeared a little amused.

"Shower!" Zoicite answered, his voice bordering on soprano.

Minako blinked once, and then again. Slowly, she turned to Ami, who was calmly running water over another cucumber. Nothing strange there.

"What was that all about?" asked Minako, feeling very out of the loop.

Ami just shrugged. She looked Minako square in the eye and smiled, the epitome of innocence. "I have no idea."


	36. Drink

**Theme**: Theme Eighteen - Drunk at smmonthly; #60 - Drink.  
**Genre**: Humor  
**Version**: Crystal Tokyo/AU  
**Rating**: PG-13

**...  
Kittens and Open Heart Surgery  
...**

_Sniffle. Sniffle. Cough. Sniffle._ Zoicite stopped finger combing his curls to duck his head around the bathroom door. _Sniffle. Sniffle._ It seemed to be running in a vicious cycle. _Cough. Sniffle._ He frowned, staring into the bedroom with mild concern. When was the last time he'd been sick? It was hard to catch a cold when you're in a semi-tangible form, trapped inside of a rock. He wondered: Could he even get sick? Apparently, the senshi could.

Ami didn't bother to look up from her book, her hand instinctively finding her haphazardly thrown handkerchief on the nightstand next to a glass of water. Daintily, she dabbed her nose and muffled a light cough. She didn't seem too worried, but did happen to look a little frustrated when one cough turned into two, until finally she let her book fall into her lap with a dull thud so she could clamp both hands over her mouth to quell the tidal wave of gasping coughs that didn't seem to want to stop until she took a sip of water. As she set her glass back down, her eyes flicked up and then down, and then back up again, zeroing in on Zoicite.

"Am I bothering you?" she asked.

It took him a moment to decide if she was being sarcastic or not. That was his fault, teasing too much. The man who always cried "bother." Her face was neutral, though, studying his reaction. He slipped back into the bathroom to give himself a moment. When she stared at him like that, calculating and curious, he always felt like she could see right through him.

"Maybe," he replied. Bracing himself against the sink, he gave himself one last once over. His hair was still wet, curling in thick, fair clumps over his bare shoulders. His skin looked a little too pale in the dim lamp lighting, but that was normal.

"This stupid cold popped up this afternoon." Ami had her head resting back against the wooden headboard of their bed, her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers lighting dancing over pressure points in her face, when Zoicite finally removed himself from the bathroom. It gave him a moment to really assess how _not_ normal _she _looked. The olive undertone of her pale skin had turned a sickly yellow, and dark circles were starting to form under her eyes. Her nose was tinged red, which Zoicite would have thought was actually kind of cute if she didn't look absolutely miserable. "I've tried everything. I haven't been sick in years, and then BAM!" Her eyes opened, and she slapped her book shut, pegging him with a slightly irate stare. "Of course, it had to happen _now_, when I'm at the peak of my workload," she muttered.

He paused, trying to keep his face absolutely blank. "So, you did take something, then?"

"Yes," she sighed. "About an hour ago. Maybe it just needs a bit longer to kick in."

Flopping down on her side of the bed, next to her slender legs, he stared at her intently. "I hope so. I can't sleep with you sniffling and snorting all night," he said, widening his eyes innocently. "I need my beauty sleep, you know."

"I can always sleep in another room," she scowled, slipping her glasses off her nose. "God forbid my illness is an inconvenience to you."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Zoicite scoffed. "Just take something else."

"I don't like to mix my medications more than I have to," Ami said pointedly.

Her ire was lost on Zoicite, though, as he had already disappeared back into the bathroom. A second later, he was back, sitting a little closer with a Cheshire grin and a bottle of cough syrup in his hand.

"What'd you take to begin with?" he asked.

"Just a decongestant and some other nighttime cold medication," answered Ami, her eyes trained nervously on the cough syrup. "I don't like that stuff. I don't like the way it makes me feel. That's all yours. You enjoy it."

"What? You don't like feeling well?" He shook the bottle, sending the red liquid crashing thickly against the plastic sides.

Ami pouted. "I just don't like it. I know how my body reacts to it, and it's not necessary. I went to medical school and---"

"Well, I would have gone to medical school, too, if I hadn't been napping in a chunk of crystal," he interrupted. "That would have been my _first_ choice of a career path." Actually, underwear model was placed somewhat higher than world renown physician, but she didn't have to know that. "And I'd probably still be insisting you just cowboy up and take a nice big swig of this stuff even if I had gone, because alternate remedies are for people who don't get directly to the point." He tipped the bottle top in her direction. "Like _you_." He smirked. "You're just dragging this out. Don't be a martyr."

"I am not being a martyr!" growled Ami. Her face was flushed red, though whether it was from her obvious anger or from the sudden onset of a fever it was hard to tell. "And while you probably have the mind to be a brilliant doctor, you're too much of a drama queen to really be effective. Like _now_. "

"Come on," he begged. "Be a dear. Just a little sip." She shook her head. "Come on. Come on..."

They stared each other down. Ami crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest, tapping her glasses against the bed sheets. Zoicite simply leaned closer, smiling at her every five seconds before letting his face fall, as if to show the difference between compliance and having it her own way. _Happy Zoicite. Sad Zoicite. Happy Zoicite. Sad Zoicite. Happy Zoicite. Sad Zoi_--

"Oh fine!" Tossing her glasses and book onto her nightstand, Ami grabbed the cough syrup out of his hand, unscrewed the lid, and took tiny, measured sips until she felt she'd endured the correct dosage.

Zoicite's smile turned smug, and he gave her a sloppy kiss on her forehead before relieving her of the medicine she was making faces at. For a second, he let his cheek rest against her skin. He probably knew her body almost as intimately as she did, and was pleased to find it wasn't too warm. _Good._ Sure, it was just a cold, but Ami was so stubborn, minimizing everything. Her skin looked so clammy...

He hated to feel worried, so he made sure he took his time putting the cough syrup back in its rightful place in the cabinet next to the sink. It gave him a moment to reason with the more paranoid part of his brain that was ranking a simple case of the sniffles up with consumption, cancer, and lupus. No one had ever keeled over dead from a cold.

_Right?_ _Maybe?_ Unless it was really the flu. _Oh god._ Now, that would change everything.

When he slipped into bed, Ami was curled on her side, and as the mattress shifted she rolled herself more violently, stealing most of the blanket coverage. Zoicite felt a little better. If she was well enough to be angry, then she'd be okay. Anger he could deal with. Having her look positively miserable and weak, he could not.

"'Thank you, Zoicite, for tending to me in my time of need, even though I'm being a huge baby about it,'" he prompted, slipping a pair of reading glasses up his nose. He stared at her over the rims, feeling amused.

Ami grunted, reaching back with her hand to pat his stomach. It would have been a kind, grateful gesture if her fingers weren't ice cold against his bare skin. Zoicite yelped, jerking away. Balling her body up again, Ami's shoulders were shaking, as if trying to muffle laughter.

"Oh, that's fine," Zoicite grumbled, yanking back a bit of the comforter. "If that's how you want to be."

When she didn't respond, Zoicite switched his light on and picked up his own book. He stuck a pencil behind his ear with a flourish, and settled in for some pleasure reading. Well, what he called pleasure reading, anyway. Jadeite had been trying to get him to read a bestselling series that vaguely reminded him of a few cowboy novels he'd picked up a few years ago, but when an upcoming political scientist came out with another rambling, rather pathetic attempt at explaining and predicting his foreign policy, he just couldn't resist. The current writer really wasn't too far off, but he wasn't giving the whole system enough credit -- corruption this, idealist that. Zoicite tapped his pencil against the page he'd stopped on, before making a dark line down the margin. He underlined a few choice words and then dog-eared it. _Kunzite might like that theory. Packed with cynicism and realist values._

It'd been almost an hour, and Zoicite had completely forgotten about the cough syrup squabble. Ami had been quiet, shifting slightly in her sleep until her warm body was pressed against his thigh. When he stretched, he felt her stir, but figured he wasn't disturbing her. Maybe the medication had finally kicked in and she'd sleep deeply for the rest of the night.

With that in mind, it was slightly unsettling when he set his book in his lap to mark another passage, and noticed Ami's wide, blue eyes staring up at him with an unreadable expression.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, waiting for her to ask him to turn his light off and go to sleep. She didn't respond, though. Blinking once and then twice, she seemed a little dazed. He frowned. "Ami?"

Her hand reached out, carefully petting the long, golden curls that fell over his shoulder. Zoicite took off his glasses, peering critically down at her face. It looked slightly flushed, and her eyes were glassy, almost unfocused. His heart jumped up into his throat. Rubbing his hand along the comforter, he warmed it first with friction before he pressed it to her forehead and cheeks, trailing down her neck and then back up to cup her face. Letting out a breath he hadn't really been aware he'd been holding, his mouth twisted up into a smile. She didn't feel hot. She wasn't running a fever.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

Instantly, Ami started giggling, softly at first, but slowly growing until it was slightly hysterical.

"I _really_ like your hair," she said in between her laughter, her fingers still tangled in his curls.

He couldn't help it. It was apparent she was a little loopy. Zoicite started to laugh with her. He felt a little silly, but the giddy, over animated look on her face was something new and almost absurd.

"You're a tad schnockered, aren't you, darling?" he chuckled. He kept her head in his hands as she sat up, leaning almost unnecessarily close to his face until their noses touched.

Slowly, she nodded, a large grin spread across her face.

"I love you," she slurred fondly.

"I love you!" Zoicite was almost beside himself with glee. No wonder she hadn't wanted to take the cough syrup. Ami was against almost anything that impaired her normally firm, unbreakable barrier of reserve.

Nuzzling into his neck, her movements were clumsy and awkward. It was obvious not much thought was going into anything in particular, and her limbs weren't exactly paying attention to what her hazy brain was telling them. One moment, she was playing with his hair, and the next she was tracing a wobbly line down his nose.

"You're very pretty," she told him seriously.

"Thank you," he grinned, his book tossed to the side and forgotten now.

Looking pleased with herself, Ami all but crawled into his lap, her arms hanging lazily around his neck. Zoicite shifted a little, wondering if he should be enjoying himself as much as he was. It was painfully obvious Ami was fighting through a medicated haze, and he knew she was sick. He didn't want to make her feel worse, and frankly, a fumbling, thoughtless Ami was just not the same as her sober, quick witted counterpart. He rather liked the later the best, even though his body wasn't exactly differentiating from the two at that specific moment. Her skin was warm and soft under his fingers, and she squirmed as she straddled him, inciting a very familiar pull below the belt that made him groan.

"Whoa, okay!" With uncharacteristic self restraint, Zoicite rolled her back to her side of the bed. Ami didn't seem the least bit perturbed, just giddy and curious. "I think it's time to go back to sleep now," suggested Zoicite. His voice had a slight edge to it, as he was trying to keep one of her hands away from the draw strings of his pants.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you need rest. You're sick." _And a little doped up_.

"M'not tired."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm not. I don't need to." For a minute, he thought she might stick her tongue out at him like a child.

"Alright. Convince me. Give me one good reason you don't need to go back to bed."

She looked up at him through half-lidded, grave eyes. "Okay," she began, her tone serious. "Because Plato and Machiavelli are discussing corporatism and the big bang, and if I'm not there Luna doesn't get to see the importance of molecules. Everyone should know the importance of molecules, especially when it comes to Gray's Anatomy and Canadian slang. Because I've found when you don't pay attention to the light bulbs, the reference and contemporary fiction sections of the library have to be separated so they don't get mad at each other. And I'll have you know that Shakespeare only hates cheese, because the curdling hurts his ears! Don't make me beg to Einstein and Buddha! They met in Junior High when Usagi-chan ate a rice ball, and I don't speak Dutch!"

There was a tense silence as Zoicite did nothing but look at Ami with a mixture of concern, tentative amusement, and utter confusion.

"Love, I think you just lost this argument," he said slowly. _What the hell was in that cough syrup, anyway? LSD?_

Ami frowned. Obviously, whatever she said had made perfect sense to _her_. "Why?"

"Because I think you're drugged out of your mind!"

"I am not!" Her indignation made her seem almost normal. "You're drugged off your rocker!" _Almost_ being the key word.

Zoicite didn't know whether to laugh or feel distressed anymore. "Go to sleep, Ami. You'll feel better."

"Why?"

They stared at each other. Zoicite sighed, raising an eyebrow questioningly. It was worth a shot.

"Well, obviously because Mercury will start orbiting Pluto, and the kittens are performing open heart surgery in about eight hours while blindfolded and singing show tunes," he answered, trying to keep a straight face.

Ami seemed to consider this carefully.

"And the Schrödinger equation?" she asked.

"Sure?" Zoicite offered, feeling a little confused as to where this tangent was going.

It seemed to satisfy Ami, though. She sighed and rolled away from him, muttering something about hydrogen. It only took a moment before her eyelids fluttered shut, and her breathing slowed. Zoicite stayed completely still, and tried to formulate the strangest, most inane responses he could come up with in case she woke up again.

After twenty minutes, though, he felt safe enough to bend over the side of the bed and scoop his book off the floor where he'd thrown it. He scanned the passages, not really retaining anything.

_Don't make me beg to Einstein and Buddha! They met in Junior High when Usagi-chan ate a rice ball, and I don't speak Dutch!_

Slipping a bookmark into the pages, Zoicite finally let himself succumb to the hilarity of the whole exchange. His shoulders shook with silent laughter, and when he finally set his book on the nightstand and turned off his light, he had to bite his pillow to muffle his snorting chuckles.

He wondered if Ami would remember anything in the morning. Part of him hoped she wouldn't. After all, he thought with a smile, he was going to have _a lot_ of fun reenacting it for everyone at breakfast.


	37. Choices

**Note:** Decided it was time to put the writing I had done on Livejournal towards my barely dented FanFic100 list! Hopefully, I'll have some time to write fresh pieces in the near future.

**Theme:** #86 - Choices; "Feminism" at smmonthly  
**Genre:** Humor/General  
**Version:** AR  
**Rating:** PG

**...  
Can't Stop Progression  
...**

"I OBJECT!" raged Zoicite, a long finger squashing the tip of Mamoru's nose threateningly. "Why does every man have to go immediately to shopping, as if that's the only thing that can possibly occupy a woman's time? I resent your chauvinistic tone! What if Usagi _wanted_ to go to the bar to watch the game? You didn't ask any of the women! You just _assumed_ they'd rather be off twittering like mindless harpies! God, you're such an ass!"

Mouth slightly open, Mamoru didn't seem to know whether to laugh or yell back.

"Zoicite, I was just joking!" He settled on just seeming perplexed. "And you're not even a girl. Why are you so offended?"

"People think I'm a woman half the time," explained Zoicite, rocking back onto his heels like nothing had happened. "I just thought I'd bat for the other team for a while.. And I kind of wanted to go to that little boutique store down the street." He frowned. "I was hoping for a dramatic exit, honestly. This is so _anti-climatic_."

Mamoru just rolled his eyes and glanced down at the small blonde at his side. Staring back up at him, Usagi smiled indulgently.

"So, you don't really want to go to the bar, do you?" he asked, his tone slightly reluctant.

"No," answered Usagi, her eyes lighting up. "Minako promised to show me these cute slippers she saw, and then we're going to go get Rei a cocktail dress for Saturday, and then--"

"You're not exactly helping the carefully crafted argument I just gave," Zoicite interrupted.

"Sorry." Usagi shrugged sheepishly.

Zoicite pouted. "Well, one of us has to break the stereotype."

Nose buried in a book, Ami had been blindly following in Makoto's wake. Crowds readily parted for the tall brunette. So, when Zoicite's hand clamped down on her wrist, swinging her along after him as he started stalking in the opposite direction, she squealed loudly in surprise.

"No!" she cried. "I wanted to go to the bar! I can sit and read there!"

"Too bad," replied Zoicite. "We're going to go shopping."

Ami's frantic protests continued on down the street as the rest of the group looked on.

"Ami-chan's suffering for the sake of progress," sighed Minako, her hands clasp in front of her dramatically.


	38. Writer's Choice Companion Piece

**Theme:** #99 - Writer's Choice; "Lyrical" at smmonthly  
**Genre:** Drama/Angst  
**Version:** AR Crystal Tokyo  
**Rating:** PG/R-ish  
**Notes:** Companion to Remember the Truth.

**...  
Love Me Now, Hate Me Later  
...**

He's even a little surprised by his own outburst, his own hysterical word vomit. He wonders what he looks like to her, towering and angry, pressing her against the edge of the table. Tears are hot on his cheeks, but he can't work up the motivation to feel the least bit ashamed. Her eyes are wide and bright, indignation swirling in a blue ocean. He can barely see himself reflected there, pathetic and insistent.

Why does he need her so badly?

Her words are stuttering and unconvinced. She's lost, too, and she's angry because she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand him. The thought makes him feel a little smug. He's the one puzzle she'll never crack, but _oh_, he'll let her try. And then maybe he'll understand himself, too.

Her skin is flushed, but she's not warm under his hands. She's lukewarm, and she's resisting. He takes her hands in his. It makes his responses sharp and cruel, because he remembers a time when she used to offer her chilled skin willingly. Now, she treats him like a leper. It infuriates him, though he feels like he deserves it. He deserves the way her chin raises defiantly, even though her body is arched against his.

That's a little comforting. Even if she doesn't remember him fondly, her body does.

So, he plays the only card he has, and he lets her tone whip him as he presses her hands to his chest. Her tongue stumbles in time with his heart. She's melting. He brushes his lips over her fingertips, enjoying the heat he's placed there. Even more important, she hasn't pulled away. She doesn't protest when he presses her against the table top, even though her expression is still tortured and confused. Her innocence almost stops him, but he's too far gone now.

He kisses her forehead first, and then her nose. She's still talking, a nervous reflex, but stops when he cups the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her cropped hair. Is she even still breathing? Yes. He's so close he can feel her chest heaving raggedly. It makes him feel wild. She makes him feel wild. _Mine_,he thinks childishly as he crushes her mouth under his. _Only mine_.

Whether she's responding on instinct or because she's been waiting just as long as he has, he doesn't care anymore. He loves how tiny she feels, how her head bends under his. She gasps when he lifts her onto the table top. She's sitting on scattered research, and the pages crackle when he shifts her, when he pulls her as close as he can get her. It's almost like the past, like his memories, when she buries her fingers in his curls and tentatively brushes her lips along his jaw.

When he exposes her, yanking her shirt over her head, he forgets where they are for a second. He forgets about Crystal Tokyo and Ami Mizuno. He forgets the fact he's a traitor. He forgets that he promised himself he wouldn't do this to her. His hands run over her skin greedily, desperately. Mercury from a lifetime ago is staring up at him, her eyes half lidded and her lips swollen.

She'll hate him tomorrow. He'll hate himself. But for now, it doesn't matter.


	39. Writer's Choice Led To Water

**Theme:** #99 - Writer's Choice; "Sahara" at smmonthly  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Version:** AR  
**Rating:** R

**...  
Led to Water  
...**

He told her once that he felt like he was living his life like a stranded man in the desert, his moments away from her side like the long stretches of wavy desert dunes: dry, barren, and hopeless.

After laughing, she'd humored him, running her cool hands down his back and opening her neck to let his teeth graze the delicate skin right above her pulse point. She told him it was a sweet thought, but "possibly an exaggeration and uncharacteristically hobbesian" of him.

Oh, the politics! The politics of every little thing they said and did. He was drowning in it like sand, he had insisted. Didn't she have better things to do than drag dead philosophers into the bedroom? The gasp she had made and the way her hips bucked as his fingers found their way between her thighs suggested she did.

"I don't like to think of you being sad and hopeless when I'm away," she had panted.

The ice queen, independent and reserved. Only the way her teeth nipped boldly at his bottom lip suggested she had ever missed him when he was gone too long, the deep moan in the back of her throat the only complaint he'd ever hear. She was patient, solitary, and reclusive. She was everything he wasn't, and he had reminded her of it with his little analogy. Her eyes had been glossed with a hint of concern, even as they closed half-lidded in pleasure.

"Don't worry," was his response as his weight fell over her body like a warm blanket. "The thing about this desert is, at least I know I'll hit an oasis eventually."


End file.
